 
### Tiberius Found

\- part one of The Emperor Initiative -

Smashwords Edition

Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire, United Kingdom

Copyright © 2014 Andrew Goodman

The moral right of the author has been asserted

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic or otherwise, without permission from the author.

All rights reserved

ISBN: 9781310992865

Smashwords Edition,

License Notes

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Table of contents

Tiberius Found

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the Author
CHAPTER 1

The blond man sat on a bench at the eastern end of the Serpentine in London's Hyde Park and sipped coffee from a takeaway cup. The cut of his light grey suit marked it as being expensive and, with one leg casually crossed over the other, he looked like a thousand other office workers across the city enjoying the mid-morning sun. He watched as a married couple with a young girl threw bread to a horde of hungry ducks.

'Attention Alpha One,' a clear voice said through the hidden receiver in the blond man's ear. 'Target has entered through the Park Lane gate. He's heading straight towards the bandstand, no deviation. ETA thirty seconds.'

The blond man took hold of the folded newspaper next to him and stood up from the bench. The child was now crying because her parents had run out of bread and they tried to cajole her, saying that daddy would go and get more but the girl's tears continued to flow. The blond man shook his head and turned away.

'Is he alone?' he asked. His clipped accent suggested a private education.

'Check,' the voice confirmed in his ear. 'No shadow.'

'Good. Keep eyes open.'

'Roger.'

The man made his way to the elaborate bandstand, dropped his coffee cup into one of the bins and locked eyes onto his target; a man whose blue shirt was damp with sweat. He approached the sweating man from behind and smiled as he saw the man shuffle from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting at his side.

The blond man stopped close to his target's shoulder but kept his face turned away. 'Don't turn around.'

The sweating man froze.

'I'm going to open my newspaper,' the blond man continued, 'and you're going to put the information in it. Do you understand?'

The other man nodded – quick and edgy – and pulled a small brown envelope from his trouser pocket. He slid it between the open folds of the newspaper next to him.

The blond man snapped the paper shut and tucked it under one arm. 'I hope that this is what we agreed it'd be, Michael.' He leaned in closer, 'For your sake.'

'Of course it's what you want.' Michael turned around to face him. 'I just want all of this to be over, Jim, okay?'

'I said not to turn around,' Jim hissed, the threat in his words clear. 'And never speak my name again.'

The man turned back. Sweat beaded faster on his forehead. He wiped it away and swallowed hard. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'

'I want this to be over too, I really do,' Jim continued, his voice now soft and gentle. 'I want you to be able to go back to your wife and forget that any of this ever happened. I wonder, though, what Amanda would say if she knew about you and Sophie?'

'I've given you what you've asked for,' Michael replied, close to tears. 'There's no point in threatening me anymore.'

'I'm just letting you know that you might forget but should anything be amiss then we won't.'

Michael shook his head. 'It isn't. Trust me; that's where you can find the Tiberius file.'

Jim leaned in close once more. 'Then you've got nothing to worry about. Stay where you are for five minutes then... then do whatever you want. It's a lovely day, Mike, why don't you go and feed the ducks?' He turned and walked away.

Michael remained rooted to the spot. A tear rolled down his cheek and he gave a shuddering breath of relief. 'God help me.' He wiped the tear away. 'And God help the boy.'

This was one of those moments that Daniel Henstock dreaded. He sat in Mrs Warner's classroom, gripping his desk with both hands and waited for his test sheet to be handed back.

Mrs Warner was something of a traditionalist and from time-to-time she told her class to put away their Tablets and inflicted an old-fashioned written exam on them. With each test paper she handed back, the noise in the room grew louder. Some of his classmates gave a triumphant "yes!" upon seeing the mark she'd given them – a bold number written in thick red ink in the top right hand corner of the sheet – whilst others moaned.

Throughout it all Daniel faced straight ahead, concentrating on one of the garish wall posters for the upcoming 2028 Olympic Games in Sao Paulo. He caught the waft of flowery perfume to his right before hearing the clack of her heels on the hard floor.

'Another splendid effort, Daniel,' Mrs Warner said as she placed the sheet on his work-station, her fingernails painted a soft pink. She had given him a mark of ninety-nine percent. She had even written "excellent" under it, with three exclamation marks. Daniel managed a thin smile.

'A shame about question seventeen,' she continued, 'but never mind – you're still the top of the class.'

He smiled at her again as she moved past, handing back the rest of the sheets. He had known the answer to question seventeen, just as he'd known the answer to all of the other questions Mrs Warner had ever set. Even as far back as primary school he'd known the answers to all of the questions any of his teachers had ever asked. He read the tutorial notes and the details just stuck. One read was all it took for him to remember.

But getting the answers right all the time wasn't always the smartest move. Getting a few of the questions wrong every now and then didn't make him seem quite so perfect.

Daniel turned to his right and looked down the room to his friend – his only real friend – Oliver Martins. Oliver was a podgy, red-faced boy who always had his shirt hanging loose out of his school trousers. He had a huge grin on his face and held up his sheet for Daniel to see; seventy-three percent, and mouthed, 'You?'

Daniel held up a thumb and grinned.

It was then that he caught sight of Terry Llewellyn sitting in the row behind Oliver, scowling. Terry had taken an instant dislike to him ever since they had both started at Primrose Hill Academy five years ago and when Daniel started to get near faultless results in his tests Terry's hatred grew.

Llewellyn stood at least ten centimetres taller than the rest of the boys in his year, had broad shoulders and played rugby with a brutish enthusiasm. Daniel had overheard some of the girls in his year one day and, if there was any truth in their whispered, giggling gossip, then Terry Llewellyn was an object of desire.

'Like most people who're good at sports, I suppose,' Daniel had mused to Oliver afterwards. 'You know, like footballers.'

'Yeah,' Oliver had answered with a grimace, 'but Terry Llewellyn? He's just a thug.'

Thug or not, there was something about him that the girls liked – something which Daniel didn't have. Despite this, for some unknown reason, Terry took his academic success as a personal insult almost as if Daniel getting a high mark made Terry less of a man.

And Terry was not the sort of teenager any of his classmates would choose to annoy. Rumour had it that Llewellyn's father was one of the few bare-knuckle boxers still left. It was an illegal activity – had been for over a dozen years – so Terry always answered the speculation with an enigmatic grin. The thought that it might be true only added to his reputation.

Daniel turned back in his seat, knowing that Terry would soon come seeking some sort of retribution and they were standing at the bank of lockers which sat on one side of the Academy's second floor corridor when it happened. It was a quarter past three and the rest of the school pushed past them on their way home. Oliver reached inside his locker and pulled out a small box, wrapped in bright coloured paper.

'Happy birthday,' he said handing it to Daniel.

'What?' He shook his head. 'You didn't have to get me anything.'

'It's not much, but I know it's something you want. Don't open it now though,' Oliver said closing the locker. 'Has your mum got anything planned for tonight?'

'She's making out she hasn't but I'm pretty sure she has. I'd like to get a run and swim in this afternoon but she likes to do the whole surprise party thing. I don't think I'm going to have the chance.'

'You're lucky you don't have any brothers or sisters. It's not easy being the youngest of five, you know. I think mum and dad are fed up of birthdays and Christmases now. The best I get is an e-card and an Apps voucher, if I'm lucky. When you get home just give them a wide-eye surprised look and...' Oliver's face changed. 'Don't look now but Llewellyn and his lot are coming.'

Daniel did turn around. Terry Llewellyn, flanked by two boys of similar build; Kevin Linley and Colin Lawson, made their way along the corridor against the flow of the rest of the students. The hardness of Terry's eyes and the curl of his lip made anyone that got close to him veer suddenly away.

'Why don't you get lost, Martins,' Terry said as he reached them. He almost made it sound like a request.

Oliver stayed where he was for a moment.

'It's alright,' Daniel told him. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'You sure?'

'If you want some, fat boy,' Terry said with a smile, 'there's plenty to go round.'

'Just go home, Oli,' Daniel said. 'And thanks for the present, yeah.'

Oliver nodded, stepping around Terry and his two thugs. With a final look over his shoulder – his eyes wide with concern – Oliver merged into the mass of teenagers leaving for the day.

'What did your girlfriend get you then?' Terry asked, prodding the wrapped box.

'He's not my girlfriend,' Daniel replied, 'and what's it to you anyway?'

'You think you're smart, don't you?'

'Depends on the company. What do you want, Terry? I should be getting home.'

Terry put his arm around Daniel's shoulder. 'Oh, don't be like that. We just wanted to have a chat, like.'

Daniel turned the corner on to Palmer Court and stopped to wipe his lips once more before reaching his house. The bleeding had stopped and even the swelling had gone down a little. His left eye was sore from the punch and he counted himself lucky that Terry's effort had been lacklustre at best. Perhaps his bully was getting bored with it, after all.

Daniel turned his key in the lock and stepped into the hallway. The house was quiet. He closed the door and took off his jacket. He put the crumpled and torn remains of Oliver's present, along with his keys, onto the table. 'Mum? Dad? Are you in?'

He checked his reflection in a mirror. Does it look as if I've been punched? He ran a hand through his hair. No, maybe not. He moved over to the lounge door, opened it, and was hit by a wall of sound.

'Happy birthday!'

The lounge had been decked out with coloured banners and balloons. His parents stood ahead of everyone else, singing their hearts out. Oliver was also there and Daniel could see his friend was worried about what Terry had done. The singing finished and was quickly followed by hugs and kisses from his mum and dad. Daniel blushed crimson with embarrassment. He was right though – no one had even noticed the swelling on his cheekbone.

It was twenty minutes later, after presents had been handed out and the birthday cake cut, before Oliver could pull Daniel to one side. They stepped into the hallway where it was quieter. 'What happened after I left?'

'The usual, you know,' Daniel answered, mumbling through a piece of cake. 'No big deal.'

'We're going to have to do something about him.' Oliver's eyes flickered doubtfully. 'Well, you know what I mean. Someone should anyway.'

'Do what though?' Daniel laughed. 'Saying anything'll just make it worse. Besides, I think he's losing interest in it all – his punches didn't hurt half as much as they used to. Look, I'm not even bruised, am I? And after term finishes I'll probably never have to see him again. So what's the point?'

'Even so.'

'Look, just forget it. If he behaves like that in the real world then he'll have the police after him in no time. I'd be surprised if they don't already have him on their radar. Don't worry about him, he's nothing.'

'Don't worry about him? Right. Well he picks on you, so whatever you think's best.'

'Yeah, just forget him.'

There was a moment or two of awkward silence before Oliver spoke again. 'Anyway, did you like your present?'

Daniel bit his lip and glanced down at the torn, crumpled box he had left on the glass table. Oliver followed his eye. A polymer action figurine lay broken in the paper and card box. 'What happened to it?'

Daniel shrugged.

'Terry broke it?' Oliver's voice was strained.

'No. He just knocked it out of my hand. It was Kevin Linley who stepped on it.'

Oliver reached down and picked the box up. The figure was a character from the sci-fi series Border Patrol. 'But Chett Peterson is your favourite.'

'He is and it was a really great present. Look, I'll pay you back for it.'

'No. It wasn't you who broke it.' Oliver's face creased and it looked as if he was about to burst into tears. 'It's not right –'

'A little bird tells me that you had some test marks back today,' Daniel's mum appeared behind them. She wore her best dress and had even put her antique pearls on for the occasion. She put an arm around Daniel's shoulder and kissed his cheek, leaving a ruby red lipstick mark behind.

Oliver quickly hid the broken present behind his back.

Daniel turned to his friend. 'A little bird, eh?'

'My mum told your mum when she dropped me off,' Oliver apologised. 'Sorry.'

'So?' His mum continued. 'How did it go?'

'Yeah, it went well.'

'Is that all? It just went well? What mark did you get?'

He was almost too embarrassed to say. 'Ninety-nine percent.'

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his face several more times. 'You're such a clever boy. We're so proud of you.'

'Mum!' Daniel fought his way out from her embrace, his cheeks as red as the lipstick. 'It was an easy test, everyone scored high.'

'Nonsense,' she answered him with a smile. 'You're a very special boy.'

Arthur Thomas took his usual window seat on the six forty-five Mag-Lev evening train from London's Paddington station heading west.

He took out a sleek data terminal from his briefcase and started to update a file. The compartment filled quickly and, even in First Class, there were few empty seats. The sound of someone sitting opposite him caused him to look up. Instead of seeing Elaine Richardson, the middle-aged barrister who normally sat there, Arthur stared into the face of a blond man wearing a fashionable, light grey suit.

'Excuse me,' Arthur said; his voice soft and reedy. 'I'm sorry but I believe that seat's been reserved by Miss Richardson. Look, there's the reservation code in the seat-back.'

The man regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then twisted around to look at the digital display. He turned to face Arthur again. 'If she turns up I'll move.'

'I see,' Arthur muttered. 'But she always catches this train, you know.'

'Like I said; if she turns up, I'll move.' Although the man spoke politely and had the faint trace of a smile on his lips, there was a distinct, underlying edge to his voice.

Arthur smiled back and gave a trace of a nod. He wasn't a coward; it was just that he detested any form of confrontation. 'Yes, yes of course.'

The siren on the platform sounded and the train doors closed silently. It rose on its magnetic cushion and, without as much as a gentle jolt, made its way out of the station.

'Looks like I get to keep the seat after all,' the man said with a broader smile, 'must be my lucky day. I'm Jim, by the way.'

'Arthur.' He gave a faint smile in reply then turned back to his data terminal.

Jim continued to stare at him for a few moments before glancing at a red-headed man sitting two places behind Arthur. Their eyes met and Jim nodded once. The man produced a can of lager from his jacket, opened it and took a large swig. He stood up and, in a loud, out-of-tune voice, began singing a football song. He swung the can around and spilled beer onto the other passengers. Arthur turned at the noise, just as half of the can's contents were tipped over him.

He raised his arms in a futile attempt to protect himself. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

'Sorry,' the man said clambering over the passengers between them, his speech slurred. 'I'm really sorry, mate. Are you alright?'

'Don't be ridiculous, of course I'm not. Look at me.'

The man wiped a dirty hand down Arthur's shirt. 'I'm really sorry.'

'You're making it worse. Please, just... just go and sit back down, will you?'

'Now there's no need to get funny about it,' the drunk replied, his voice gaining an angry edge. 'I said I was sorry.'

'I'm not getting angry,' Arthur replied, a forced smile on his lips. 'All I asked was if you could go back to your seat.'

'I get you,' the drunk replied, poking a finger into Arthur's chest. 'Just because you wear a fancy suit and work in an office you think you're better than me. Don't you?' He jerked the can at Arthur and more lager spilled onto him.

'Please!'

'Come on then.' The drunk grabbed Arthur with his free hand and hauled him into the aisle. 'Let's see how tough you are now.'

At that moment a porter entered the carriage from the far end, spotted what was happening and, with a frown, made his way towards the two men.

As soon as Arthur had been pulled from his seat, and with everyone else paying attention to what was happening in the aisle, Jim snatched the data terminal from on top of the table and moved it onto his lap. From his jacket pocket he produced a small display unit with a universal connector lead attached to one end and plugged it into Arthur's terminal.

Jim tapped on the display unit screen a few times and a message flashed "Clone Device?" Jim tapped the screen once more and the message changed to "Clone in Progress". A status bar appeared at the bottom of the screen, charting the process.

'What's the problem here?' the porter asked as he reached Arthur and the drunk.

'This lunatic threw beer all over me,' Arthur replied, 'and when I asked him to sit back in his seat he became extremely violent. He was singing too and this is supposed to be a quiet carriage, after all.'

'There's no trouble,' the drunk said to the porter. 'No trouble.' His eyes darted to Jim. No one else noticed the slight shake of the blond man's head.

'Do you have a ticket for this carriage?' the porter asked the drunk.

'Course I do.'

'Can I see it?'

The drunk patted his pockets, spilling more beer over Arthur as he did so.

'Oh, this is ridiculous,' Arthur said to the porter. 'This man clearly has no ticket.'

The drunk flashed his eyes towards Jim once more who gave another almost imperceptible shake of his head. The drunk took another swig of lager.

'Sir, do you have a ticket?'

The progress bar on the display unit read one hundred percent and the message changed to "Clone Complete". Jim disconnected Arthur's terminal and slid it back onto the table.

'Alright, alright,' the drunk said to the porter. 'It's a fair cop, you got me.' He held his wrists out. 'I'll come quietly, officer.'

As the porter led the drunk away along the carriage Arthur sat back down, dabbing his jacket with a handkerchief.

Jim flashed him a smile. 'Some people, huh?'

Jim made his way through the automatic barriers at Reading station and headed to a saloon car parked close by. He sat in the passenger's seat and plugged his display unit's connector into a socket in the car's central console. A panel in the dashboard spun around to reveal a touch screen. Jim tapped at the screen and a list of the copied files from Arthur's terminal was displayed.

He selected the one titled "Tiberius"

The car driver's door opened and the red-headed drunk from the train sat next to him. Jim opened the Tiberius file and a class photo of Daniel Henstock displayed on the screen, its time-stamp showing it had been taken three years ago. He scrolled down and Daniel's home address and personal details were displayed.

'Is it what we want?' the red-head asked, all traces of his slurred speech now gone.

Jim nodded. 'That's the one. And it's his birthday too,' Jim said, pointing at the screen. 'Sixteen today. What present do you think he'd like?'

The red-head gave a snigger. 'Nothing that he's gonna get.' He fired the car's ignition and eased it out of the car park.

Jim took a mobile phone from his jacket and in a clear voice said, 'Call, Control.'

The call clicked through after one ring. 'Yes?' a cold voice answered.

'It's Alpha One, sir. Our Intel was correct; the old man did have the data.' Jim paused as if to add weight to his next four words.

'Tiberius has been found.'
CHAPTER 2

Daniel stirred in his bed. He rolled over and looked at the digital clock on the low cabinet beside him. It showed ten past two in the morning and the room was still and quiet. A sliver of moonlight snaked in through a gap in the curtains and glinted off some of his triathlon medals and trophies.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand; in five hours he'd have to be up and getting ready for another day at school. He groaned at the thought – another day of pretending to be like the rest, another day of trying to avoid Terry Llewellyn and his gang of monkeys.

Another day of waiting for three p.m.

He turned back, tugged the warm duvet around him and closed his eyes. He was jerked back to consciousness a few moments later by the creak of his parents' bedroom door opening. He raised his head from the pillow; his senses now alert. His parents had their own bathroom off their bedroom, so maybe one of them wanted a glass of water or something from downstairs.

Then he heard two soft sounds, as if someone had punched a pillow, and he was snapped into sharper consciousness. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention, his heart beat quickened and for some unquantifiable reason he was suddenly afraid. Then there was another sound – just the faintest creak of a floorboard from the corridor. Was it just his overactive imagination, or was there actually someone in the house?

He slid from under the duvet and stepped silently towards his large built-in wardrobe. He was only wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, and felt a shiver go through him as the cold of the room touched his skin. His mum had always nagged him about leaving the wardrobe door open, but he was glad that he didn't have to make any noise as he reached in for his dressing gown. He heard another faint creak of a floorboard – just outside his door this time – and he froze.

There was someone there.

Daniel stepped behind the open wardrobe door, putting it between him and the entrance to his room. Perhaps it was just his sudden fear but the room seemed to have got even colder. Goose-bumps broke out over his arms and, standing there, he started to shiver. He dared not move, dared not reach out for the warmth of his dressing gown. A hollow sensation gripped him in the pit of his stomach.

He heard the handle of his bedroom door turn, slow and quiet. A second later the door eased open. He doubted he'd have heard it if he'd still been asleep.

Daniel peered around the edge of the wardrobe door and saw a man dressed in dark clothes and balaclava step into his room. The man made his way silently to the bed, holding what looked like a gas-powered syringe in one hand. Moonlight glinted off its metallic spike and a drop of liquid fell from its point. The stranger's gloved hand reached out to pull back the duvet when a thudding crash blew the bedroom door wide open.

Another man, equally dressed in black clothes but with a bare head, thundered into the room and bundled the first figure to the floor. It was like watching a movie as the two dark shapes fought a brief and almost silent battle; with swift jabbing punches from both men slamming into their opponent. The bare-headed man gripped hold of the syringe and forced it down into his opponent's thigh. Daniel heard the psssst, as the pressurised gas fired the liquid into the man's leg. Whatever had been in the syringe, it quickly started to take effect. The man slowed in his fight; his punches and blocks a fraction of a second too slow.

The bare-headed man slapped his opponent's hands away and gripped his neck in the crook of his elbow. The first man reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, complete with a thick silencer. His opponent hooked the hand holding the pistol with a knee and forced it to the carpet. A bullet shot from the weapon – the sound of someone punching a pillow – and it thudded into the frame of the wardrobe next to Daniel.

He dropped to his knees and put his hands over his ears. He told himself that this couldn't be happening but the sound of the two men fighting continued. He had to know what was going on, and with nervous anticipation he glanced around the edge of the door.

The bare-headed man still gripped the first around the neck and pushed with his free hand, twisting the neck violently to one side. With a sickening snap and crunch of bone the intruder's body went limp.

Daniel held his breath. This must be some sort of dream. It had to be. A man couldn't have just been killed in his bedroom.

The bare-headed man eased his victim to the carpet and pulled away the dead man's balaclava: his blond hair now spiky and sweat-stained. A trickle of blood came from the corner of his mouth.

'Daniel?' the bare-headed man whispered, reaching for the bed, his breath ragged. 'Daniel, it's alright. You're safe, but only if you come with me now. Daniel?'

Daniel moved back behind the comparative safety of the door and closed his eyes once more. Perhaps if he shut them tight enough then all of this would prove to be a nightmare but then he heard the soft tread of the man's step on the carpet, coming his way.

The dark shape of the killer came around the edge of the door and Daniel lashed out with a fist. The man deflected it with ease then the killer reached out and grabbed at him. Daniel flailed in his attempt to free himself but proved no match for the older man's strength and after a few seconds of struggle found himself in the tight grip of a murderer.

The man slapped Daniel across the face, the sound of the glove against his cheek surprising him more than the actual blow.

'You have to listen to me,' the man spat. 'There'll be others like him who'll try to take you. You're not safe here, Daniel. You have to come with me. Now!'

'What?' His head spun. None of this made any sense.

'Trust me. Come with me now and it'll all be explained.'

'But... What about my parents?'

Even in the darkness of the room Daniel saw the man shake his head. 'I was too late to save them.'

'What do you mean? What's happened to them?'

'They're dead, Daniel,' the man said without any trace of emotion. 'I'm sorry, but you're the one who's important.'

'No!' Daniel tried to pull away from the man's grip, desperate to see what had happened. His parents couldn't really be dead. That just wasn't possible. 'Mum! Dad!'

'Daniel! You have to listen to me. We don't have time for this, we have to go now.'

'Mum! Dad! Help, there's a man –'

The killer pulled back a fist and jabbed it hard into Daniel's jaw. For a spilt second Daniel didn't know quite what had happened, he staggered back against the clothes in his wardrobe, his hand reaching for where the punch had struck. In the five years of being bullied by Terry Llewellyn he'd never been hit that hard. He collapsed, unconscious, before his hand even reached his face.

Daniel opened his eyes. He woke to find himself in an unfamiliar bed with bright sunlight streaming in through a skylight in the ceiling. The room was neat and tidy, and a vase of fresh-cut flowers filled the room with a delicate fragrance. He raised a hand to the reddened section of his jaw and opened his mouth, his fingers probing the tender flesh. Then the memories of what had happened flooded back.

He sat up with a start, his heart racing once more. He leapt out of the bed and went to the bedroom door – it was locked. He raced over to the window, pulled the heavy curtains aside and tried to open it. It was locked as well, and had a wooden shutter blocking the view to the outside. The noise of a key being turned in the bedroom door brought his attention back around. He cowered between the bed and a chest of drawers, his knees tight to his chest. The door opened and the killer from last night stood in the doorway.

The man saw Daniel cowering on the floor and held out a pacifying hand. 'You don't need to do that,' the man said, his voice calm and measured.

Any other time Daniel might have thought that the man's expression was one of embarrassment.

'There's nothing to be scared of while you're here,' the man continued. 'I'm sorry about your jaw, by the way. I hope I didn't hurt you too much.'

Daniel tried to control his breathing. 'Where am I?'

'Somewhere safe. I brought some of your things,' he said pointing at a pile of folded clothes on a chair close to the bed, a pair of Daniel's boots underneath. 'I didn't have much time so I hope they're okay. Why don't you get dressed then come downstairs? There's breakfast ready, and the professor will answer your questions. I'm sure you've got plenty.'

'Professor?'

The man looked down at the carpet awkwardly as if he didn't quite know what to say. 'There's fresh coffee. Or juice, if you'd prefer. Come down when you're ready.'

The man turned away and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

With slow, nervous steps Daniel made his way down the stairs, dressed in the clothes the man had brought. The sound of the killer talking to someone else drifted along the hallway. Daniel stood on the stairs, facing the front door – a way out. He darted to it and turned the latch but the door wouldn't open. He pulled and tugged frantically at it but the door was securely locked.

'Daniel.' The voice was that of an elderly man, warm and soft.

Daniel turned to see a man who looked as if he was in his late sixties, standing in the kitchen doorway. He had a grey-white beard, wore a smile and had his hands tucked into the pockets of a beige cardigan.

'It may be difficult for you to understand,' the old man continued, 'but there's no need to be scared. You're safe, for now.'

'If I'm safe then let me go.'

'I will,' the man replied, nodding, 'I will, but first you need to listen to what I have to say. I know that all of this must seem like a nightmare to you, God knows it would to me, but if you'll afford me a few minutes I'll try to explain it all. If we meant you any harm it would have been done already, don't you think?'

Daniel stared at the old man's eyes, trying to gauge the honesty of his words. 'What do you want with me?'

'Come and sit down,' the man said. 'Have some breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day, don't you know?' He turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Daniel stood for a moment looking down the empty hallway then made his way slowly to the kitchen door. Daniel could see open fields through the window – wherever he was, he was no longer in the city. The old man sat at a large wooden table, a cup of tea in his hands and a large brown envelope next to him. The killer lounged against a cabinet a few paces farther in, drinking a cup of coffee.

A plate of scrambled eggs and bacon sat on the table along with a glass of orange juice and a steaming cup of coffee. The old man gestured toward the empty seat opposite him. Daniel sat down cautiously and eyed the food with suspicion.

'It's not poisoned,' the old man said with a smile. 'It's all local food; the eggs are from my own chickens, the bacon from a farm just a few miles away. It's all really rather good. My name's Alan Cuthberts, by the way.'

'He said you were a professor.'

'That's right,' Alan said. 'At least I used to be. But not for many years now.'

'Why...' Daniel stifled a choke. 'Why did you kill my parents?'

'We didn't. The man who tried to take you last night committed that terrible act. I can only apologise that Simon here reached your house too late to save them.'

Daniel flashed a glance at the other man. 'Are they... are they really dead?'

Alan took a deep breath. 'I'm afraid so, yes.'

'Why would someone want to kill them? What did they ever do?'

'Nothing at all. I said that I'd tell you everything and I will, however grim the truth may be. This will be difficult for you to comprehend, Daniel, but Joshua and Elizabeth were not your real parents.'

'Don't be stupid. Of course they were. Why would you say something like that?'

Alan took a large swig from his cup and shook his head. 'I'm not lying. I gave you to them, a long time ago. They were lovely, dear people; good friends of mine and I grieve with you at their loss. I had thought that any trace of who you were, who they were, had been erased. I thought that you were all safe. It would appear, however, that wasn't the case.'

'I don't understand. What're you talking about?' Daniel stood up, knocking his chair over. 'I saw him kill someone last night!' Daniel pointed at Simon. 'How do I know that it wasn't him who killed my mum and dad?'

'You'll just have to take my word for it,' Alan answered. 'And I know that under the circumstances that's asking a great deal of you but nevertheless, you have to believe me. Simon had to kill that man in order to protect you.'

'But why? Why should I need protecting?'

'That's a very good question, Daniel, and one I had hoped you would never have to ask. Please, sit back down and I'll explain.'

Daniel glanced at Simon; although he looked relaxed Daniel sensed that the man could leap into action at a moment's notice. There was something hard and cold about his eyes. Daniel was sure that last night wasn't the first time the man sipping coffee had killed.

Daniel turned back to the professor. The old man did seem genuinely upset at what had happened. Either that or he was a brilliant actor. Daniel decided that if he was to get anywhere near finding out what the truth was, then behaving like a ten-year-old wasn't the way forward. He picked the chair up off the floor and sat back down.

'Thank you,' Alan said. 'Late yesterday evening we found out that a data terminal belonging to a government official had been cloned; the information which it held, copied. One of the files contained your name and address.'

'Why would... What? I don't understand.'

'Have you ever been ill, Daniel?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Any colds? Flus? Have you ever had the measles or chicken pox?'

'I... I don't think so.'

'Have you never been ill at all?'

'Not that I can remember.'

Alan smiled. 'You've never been ill.' It wasn't a question.

'I broke my arm when I was seven. I fell out of a tree.'

'But it healed in a couple of weeks or so? Am I right?'

'Yes.' Daniel's heart began beating fast. 'How did you know?'

'Even the swelling from Simon's blow has gone down.'

Daniel put a hand up to where he'd been punched. 'What's going on?'

'I knew you as a child,' Alan told him. 'In fact, if there's anyone who could claim to be your real father, it would be me.'

Daniel stared at the old man. 'You're my father?'

'Not in the biblical sense of the word, no. But it was me who created you.'

It took a moment for Daniel to process the old man's words. He let out a short laugh. 'What?'

'I used to work for the government, Daniel, many years ago now.'

'You created me?'

'I'm sorry, perhaps that wasn't the kindest of words to use,' Alan continued. 'Let me explain. I was in charge of a team of scientists researching the possibility of complete gene manipulation. You were the result. The reason why you heal so quickly, why you've never succumbed to any illness is because, on a genetic level at least, you're pure. Any defects in the genes, any abnormalities, any flaws which would allow a virus or infection to take hold were all scrubbed away. Negative genes were removed and positive genes introduced or enhanced. You're not immortal, Daniel, at least I don't think you are, but barring any accidents you should live a very long life.'

'Are you telling me that I'm some sort of mutant?'

'No, not at all, and you must never think that. But you are incredibly important. Which is why, when I found out what they had planned for you, I hid you away.'

'What do you mean, "What they had planned for me"? And who are "they"?'

'They were the government department in charge of the programme and to them you were nothing more than a lab rat; the next stage of forced evolution. It was only after you were... born, for want of a better word, that I found out what their real scheme was.'

Daniel's throat suddenly went dry and he found it hard to swallow. In the back of his mind he knew that he wouldn't like the answer to the question on his lips.

'What was their real scheme?'

'They intended to let you live for a short while,' the professor answered, 'no more than six months, and then dissect you like some sort of animal. I inadvertently saw a document that Dryden had written to his superiors which laid out, in graphic detail, exactly what they intended to do.'

'Who's Dryden?'

'Gregory Dryden, he was the man in charge of R-section; the government's secret research department. I should've known from the first day I met him that he wasn't to be trusted. He told me that the Emperor Initiative had been created to help mankind; to lead the way in eradicating hereditary defects, to pioneer the war against illness. He spoke of Nobel prizes and wondrous achievements, while all the time he simply wanted a test subject – a human being – which he could cut up like a specimen.

'I wasn't prepared to let him do that. I destroyed my research material, stole you away from the lab and set fire to the building. To cover my tracks I made it look as if one of the reactors had failed. It was my hope that, as far as they were concerned, we had both died that night along with all trace of the Initiative. It would appear now that was obviously not the case. Someone in the government must've found out who you were and where you lived. It was only a matter of time before Dryden caught wind of it, and so here we are.'

'This doesn't make any sense.'

'Sense or not it's the truth and I'm so terribly sorry that you ever had to find out.'

Daniel sat quietly, trying desperately to understand. 'So what happens now?'

'You have to become invisible again,' Alan answered. 'You need to hide. Only this time not even I should know where you've gone.'

'How will I do that?'

'I have a passport for you and a counterfeit DNA card to match.' The professor pushed the envelope across the table. 'Simon will take you to the airport but it's you who'll have to decide where you go from there. No one else must know.'

Alan reached down to the side of his chair and lifted up a cloth hold-all. He pushed it across the table.

'What's that?'

'Money, Daniel, for you. I've implanted the bag with a device which, if it's put through an X-ray machine, will make it appear that the contents are clothes. If anyone should open it up, well, then they'll see what it really holds.' He patted the bag. 'There's enough money in there to enable you to live very comfortably for quite a while, but it's up to you to choose a life which won't attract any attention.'

'You make it sound so simple. I don't want to go somewhere else. I don't want to... I want to go home.'

'I'm afraid you can't. Ever. If you do they'll get to you and I won't be able to stop them. Leaving the country is your only option.'

'And then what am I supposed to do?'

'I can't tell you that, and I don't want to know. Only you can decide what happens now. You must never let your personal details get onto any database; you must never hold a genuine driving licence, never have a credit card. You must be invisible. I won't be responsible for them finding you again. And the sooner we can get you out of the country the better.'

'I'm only sixteen.'

'I know, and it's a terrible burden that I'm placing on your shoulders, but believe me – it's the only way. If they find you, and they won't stop looking, they'll commit unspeakable acts which they'll excuse in the name of science. You're not a creature serving the greater good: you're a boy, an innocent.

'It's my fault that you've had to suffer already. It's my fault that Joshua and Elizabeth have been killed and I'll not permit you to suffer anymore. Have some breakfast, I know that you're probably not very hungry but you need to eat something. You've got a long day ahead of you, my boy, and you need to keep your strength up.'

It was late into the evening and the corner office on the twenty-third floor of London's Brinkley House lay dark and quiet when one of the monitors sprang into life, with a high pitched beep. The screen displayed "Trace DNA Match Located" with a passport image of Daniel along with a flight code number. The name "Tiberius" flashed red.

A door to the office opened and Chris Matthews entered the room, the light from the corridor behind him concealing his face. He took a look at the screen, pulled out a mobile phone and dialled a number. The call was answered before the second ring.

'I'm sorry to disturb you so late into the evening, sir, but we've just received a Red Flash message. Tiberius has been located, departing from Heathrow to America.'

He listened to the brief response. 'Yes, sir, I'll notify D-section at once.'
CHAPTER 3

Daniel sat in a window seat half way along the Economy section of the United British flight to Dulles International Airport. On his lap he held the zippered bag given to him by Alan Cuthberts. If what the old man had told him was true then, apart from the clothes he currently wore, the contents of the bag were his only belongings.

The false passport and counterfeit DNA Card had got him through airport security and to the rest of the world he was now John Smith.

He gripped the material of the bag in both hands, so tightly that his knuckles began to whiten. It was hard to believe that less than a day ago he'd been celebrating his sixteenth birthday with his parents, his foster parents if the professor was to be believed. The only concerns he had were the stupid childish problems of being bullied which, in comparison to his situation now, were almost laughable. He closed his eyes and forced himself to believe what was happening was real, and not some terrible nightmare.

'Would you care for anything to drink?' a woman's voice asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He opened his eyes to see a stewardess with a trolley. 'Oh, no thanks.'

'Are you meeting your parents in Washington?' she smiled.

Daniel looked at her and felt tears welling up in his eyes. 'Yes,' he managed to say before turning to face the window. He gazed out into the night sky and told himself that crying wouldn't make things any better.

A saloon car screeched to a halt at the entrance to Brinkley House, its boot lid flipping open. Three men, all dressed in black combat clothes, hurried out of the building. Each of them put a large bag into the open boot, the last man slamming it shut. They climbed into the car and, with another screech of tyres, it sped off.

Miles Brennan sat in the front passenger seat and twisted around to face the man behind him. He was in his late forties, with short-cropped dark hair and a square chin. Experiences of a lifetime spent in the army were etched onto his face and gave his grey eyes a cold appearance. He activated a Tablet and its screen lit up, displaying Daniel's image along with flight details.

'Our target's name is Daniel Henstock,' he told the other men. His voice was tinged with a Scottish accent. 'He's sixteen years old, travelling under the alias of—' he gave a brief derisory laugh '—get this, John Smith. His flight left Heathrow forty-five minutes ago, en route to Dulles International. We reach Northolt in...' He turned to the driver for an answer.

'Twenty-five, thirty minutes,' the driver replied, his eyes never leaving the road.

'We should reach Northolt in fifteen minutes,' Brennan stated. 'With any luck we'll get to Washington before him.'

The driver cast a quick glance at Brennan and pushed down harder on the accelerator, weaving the car through the evening traffic.

'Can't we just get U.S. immigration to hold him?' one of the men in the back asked.

'And what do you suggest we say to them? That this sixteen-year-old boy poses a severe international threat? Get real. Look at him; a gust of wind would blow him over. It's not our job to know why he's wanted but Upstairs want as little publicity over this as possible, so that means not involving our American friends. We go in, snatch him and return him in one piece; standard Rendition protocols. Any questions?'

'Yeah,' the other man in the back asked. 'Why's Dave driving like a girl?'

Daniel stared out of the airplane window onto the silver-streaked tops of the clouds. It all looked so peaceful out there, so calm. Then a sudden thought came to him – what was he going to do once he got to America? Where would he go? There was a great deal of money in the bag, supposedly, but it wouldn't last forever.

He hadn't had the chance to have a look at the bag's contents before getting to Heathrow, so perhaps now was a good time. He got out of his seat and made his way along the aisle to the nearest toilet. It was empty so he went into it and locked the door. Bright florescent light lit up the compartment.

Daniel lowered the toilet seat and put the bag onto it; just looking at it now made his heart quicken. He drew back the zip and opened up its sides. It was crammed full of bundles of money, all high denominations; dollars, euro, yen and sterling. There were others that he didn't even recognise.

Daniel reached into the bag and started to empty the bundles out. He'd removed about a third of them when he discovered a side panel on the bag's interior. He prised the Velcro fastening open and found, hidden inside, a digital earpiece unit attached to a DNA encoder pad. He pressed his thumb onto the pad and after his print had been scanned it flashed green. He put the unit into his ear.

'Hello, Daniel,' the professor's voice spoke to him. 'I'm hoping that you've discovered this before you land, wherever that may be. As I'm recording this you're asleep upstairs in my house and I wish that you could be at peace like that all the time. The reality, I'm sad to say, is likely to be far from it.'

Daniel heard the sound of someone moving past the toilet door, and female voices talking to each other; two of the stewardesses.

He paused the recording until the sound of the voices moved away.

'The one most vital piece of advice I can give you is this – trust no one,' the professor's voice continued. 'Beneath all of the money in the bag, under a false bottom, is another passport and DNA Card. I want you to leave the ones that I gave you, will give to you I mean, under your seat or somewhere else where they won't easily be found.'

Daniel began to empty the rest of the money from the bag.

'It may be paranoia on my part but the original documents may have been compromised, and the men who killed Joshua and Elizabeth might already know where you are. Along with the new documents is a retinal lens case, use it as soon as you can; it'll return a fake scan compatible with the DNA card, should anyone submit you to one. I've also included a fingertip laminator. Likewise, use that as soon as you can.'

Daniel emptied the bag and lifted up the false bottom. He pulled out an envelope with the new documents in, the plastic retinal lens case and a poly-ceramic laminator.

'Be under no illusion, Daniel,' the professor's voice continued, 'that these men will stop at nothing to return you to their labs. We must not let that happen. You must never try to contact me, whatever happens; it'd be far too dangerous. I shall pray that you are alive and well, and that you remain so for many years to come. My God it's good to see you grown to be a man. I never thought I'd see that. Goodbye, Daniel, my boy, and good luck.'

Daniel took the earpiece unit out and put it into the garbage slot. His original false passport and DNA Card followed.

He froze at the sound of loud banging on the door. 'Hey, are you gonna be in there all day?' a man's voice shouted. 'Come on, buddy.'

'Yeah,' Daniel answered, his voice shaking. 'I'll be out in a minute. Just a little flight sick, you know?'

He put the new documents into his jacket pocket and opened up the retinal lens case. He held the open case up and forced himself to keep his eyes open as the tiny machine sprayed a thin polymer coating over them. It was over within a second but his eyes watered and for a few moments his vision was blurred.

He put the retinal case into the garbage slot then one at a time placed his fingers and thumbs into the laminator; his fingertips being coated with a thin film which was undetectable to the naked eye. The laminator went into the garbage as well.

He hurriedly returned the money to the bag, and pressed the toilet flush. He turned to the small mirror and hardly recognised the blue-eyed person staring back at him. It was amazing the difference the change in eye colour had made.

Daniel opened the cubicle door and stepped out into the aisle. A large sweaty man stood in front of him.

''Bout time, kid,' the man said pushing past him into the cubicle. 'Thought I was gonna pee myself.'

The dark shape of a small, sleek jet cut through the clear night sky and barely made a sound as it travelled at near super-sonic speed. The shape and construction of its wings and fuselage made it invisible to even the most advanced radar.

Brennan, along with his two men; Davis and Lithgow, sat in comfortable seats around a glass-topped table, a holographic image of the airport at Dulles between them.

'We'll land on this runway,' Brennan said pointing at the display. He sunk his hand into the holograph and shifted its focus. 'Enter the main Terminal building here and make our way through to immigration control. The target's DNA Card will register as counterfeit and if the Americans follow standard procedure they'll take him to one of the interrogation cells here.' A section of the holograph pulsed red. 'We'll make our way through to this location,' he pointed at the highlighted section, 'and retrieve our man. Extraction will be through the reverse route. Any questions?'

The two other men shook their heads. Brennan pushed a button on the table top and the holograph disappeared.

'Our target is due to land and be at immigration control by zero one thirty hours,' Brennan pressed a finger to his earpiece. 'What's our current ETA at Dulles?'

There was a crackle as the pilot pressed his communicator. 'Current anticipated landing time is zero two hundred hours, sir,' the pilot replied, 'at the earliest. There's severe blue-jet lightning coming up from storms over the Atlantic. We have to re-route around them. Nothing we can do about it, I'm afraid.'

'And I'm afraid that your arse'll be on the line if you don't get us there before zero one thirty.'

'We'll do our best, sir.'

Daniel clutched the bag as he waited in line at immigration control. There were about fifty or so people ahead of him and the wait only increased his worry. An argument at one of the booths between a French man and the officer held things up even more and did little to ease his anxiety.

Brennan's jet taxied to halt, close to a waiting car. The jet's hatch opened and Brennan, Davis and Lithgow stepped off the airplane; all three wearing uniforms of U.S. Immigration Officers.

They climbed into the car and it sped off toward the Terminal building.

The closer Daniel got to the front of the line the quicker his heart thumped in his chest, and the dryer his mouth became. At last it was his turn.

He stepped up to the empty booth and handed the officer his passport and DNA Card. The officer inspected the document and compared its holographic image to the boy standing in front of him then swiped the DNA Card through a digital reader. Fear gripped Daniel and panic almost took over. He glanced around; there were seven armed guards within eyesight. If he ran he wouldn't make it twenty metres.

'Sir, place your hands on the pad,' the officer told Daniel, nodding at a white touch-screen.

Daniel placed the cloth bag on the floor and put his hands on the pad.

'Spread your fingers wide and keep them pressed firmly onto the screen until I say otherwise.'

The pad scanned his hands, highlighting and then isolating the tips of his fingers.

Brennan swiped a card through an external reader and a door leading into a brightly lit corridor opened. He entered the Terminal building with barely a pause in his stride and headed towards immigration control, Davis and Lithgow a few steps behind.

Daniel stood with his hands on the touch-pad and felt like his heart was going to burst. The officer consulted his security screen; it still hadn't confirmed Daniel's identity. He frowned, swiped the DNA Card once more and tapped at his keypad. Still no confirmation.

'Central, we may have a code forty-three violation at booth nine,' the officer said into a communicator. He turned back to Daniel and unclipped the firearm at his hip. 'Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to remain where you are. Keep your hands on the pad and away from your body. Do not move. Do you understand me?'

Daniel felt bile rise in his throat. 'Yes.'

The DNA Card was no good, or the laminator hadn't worked. Whatever it was, something had gone wrong. He fought the urge to vomit. The officer at the booth waved at one of the security guards and Daniel turned to see the armed man walking towards him; his automatic rifle primed and ready for use.

The immigration officer's console suddenly flashed green. The officer looked at the screen then turned to shake his head at the approaching guard. 'Central, this is booth nine. Cancel my last report. Repeat, cancel my last report.'

The officer handed Daniel back the passport and DNA Card. 'Thank you, sir. Apologies for the delay; it happens sometimes. I hope that you have a pleasant stay.' He waved the next passenger forward.

Daniel forced a smile, picked up his bag and pocketed the documents. With trembling steps he made his way across the concourse and towards the main arrivals lounge.

Brennan and his men entered the immigration hall, and quickly scanned the queue of people waiting to go through passport control.

'Can't see him,' Davis said.

'He may have already gone through and been taken to the detention block,' Brennan said. 'Check their system.'

Davis approached a vacant terminal, swiped a security card and accessed the security system. He shook his head. 'Nothing coming up.'

'All right then,' Brennan replied. 'Both of you do a detailed check on the line. Let's pick him up before he reaches the booths.'

The two men moved off and began to check the line passenger by passenger. Brennan went up to a security desk and flashed an identity card to the officer.

'Hi there,' Brennan said in an American accent. 'Can you tell me if flight UB7034 from London Heathrow has been cleared yet?'

'Sure, hold on a moment,' the officer replied. She typed at a screen. 'It landed forty-five minutes ago. It's been swept and is ready for a three a.m. outbound.'

'All the passengers off?'

'Yeah. It's a secure walkway from the plane to the building here. No report of any passenger still on board. You looking for someone specific?'

'Nah,' Brennan answered with a smile. 'Just checking.'

He moved away from the desk and tapped his ear communicator. 'Immigration confirms that the target's departed the plane and is in the building.'

'I'm near the end of the line,' Lithgow replied. 'He's not here.'

'Repeat?'

'He's not here, sir.'

'Davis?'

'Copy that. The boy's not here.'

Brennan spun around, scanning the hall for any sign of Daniel. 'Then where the hell is he?'

Daniel closed the taxi door with a satisfying thud. He looked back through the window at the front of the airport. He'd only ever flown within the UK before, but this looked just like all the airports he had ever seen; cold, and made out of glass and metal.

'Where to, buddy?' the driver asked.

'I'm... I'm not sure.'

'Gotta take you somewhere, kid. You got no family or nothing?'

Daniel shook his head. 'Take me to a hotel,' he said. 'A nice one, but not too close.'

The driver twisted in his seat and eyed him with suspicion.

'I can pay,' Daniel told him. He dipped into the bag and pulled out a five-hundred dollar bill.

The driver smiled and turned back around. 'Yes, sir. One nice hotel coming right up.'

The taxi pulled away from the airport and Daniel relaxed into the soft fabric of the back seat.

For the first time in twenty-four hours he felt safe, but also knew that from this point on he was on his own.
CHAPTER 4

Brennan held his phone to his ear and watched as Lithgow tapped away at a small computer screen. 'Yes, sir,' Brennan said into the phone. 'You did make it clear how important this mission is.'

He paused as another string of snide insults and threats were calmly issued by the man on the other end of the line; a man who Brennan didn't even know the name of, a man so important that he was only referred to by one word – Control.

Brennan had instantly regretted taking the decision to keep Control informed of what had happened. It was clear the man wasn't a soldier and had no real understanding of what it was like during an operation – that no matter how well prepared an exercise might be, the ebb and flow of chance could always affect the outcome of success.

That meant that Control was the worst possible thing: a politician.

Brennan let the man finish his insult. 'My men are hacking into airport security as we speak, sir. We'll have access to all their internal and external cameras within a few moments.' He paused again. 'Yes, sir, as soon as we know anything.'

He ended the call. 'Tosser.'

Lithgow finished tapping and the screen flashed up a series of boxed images; each one the view from a different camera. 'Got it.'

'Take the timeline back fifteen minutes,' Brennan said. 'We couldn't have missed him by much.'

Lithgow tapped again on the screen and the images changed. There was only the flight from Heathrow, and one other from Madrid at that time in the morning, and there were comparatively few people passing through the airport.

'I think we can ignore baggage claim,' Brennan told them, 'let's concentrate on the arrivals concourse and the exterior doors. Run the footage at double speed.'

It took a few minutes before the small shape of a solitary young man carrying a single hold-all showed up on the screen.

'There!' Brennan jabbed a finger at one of the small boxes. 'Highlight that one.'

Lithgow tapped the screen, returning the footage to normal speed, and the box widened.

Brennan held his Tablet showing Daniel's image up to the security box. 'That's our boy.'

The camera showed Daniel walking across the concourse. 'He's scared,' Brennan muttered, 'see the way he keeps looking from side to side. Perfect. He was just plain lucky to get ahead of us, but now he doesn't know what to do. Track him, see where he goes.'

Daniel passed three cameras before he headed for the exit doors and Lithgow brought up the view of the plaza outside the airport. Despite the poor light Daniel could be clearly seen getting into a taxi.

Brennan smiled. 'There we go. Zoom in on the reg plate.'

Lithgow touched the screen with his thumb and index finger. He drew them apart and the image expanded, widening the plate at the rear of the taxi. He tapped the screen once more, freezing the action. 'I'll access the DMV database; find out where that cab went.'

It took a few moments of the hotel porter standing next to him with a smile on his face before Daniel realised that he was waiting for a tip. The man had insisted on carrying Daniel's hold-all up to the room and he now stood with one hand out, palm up.

His smile grew even wider when Daniel passed him a five-hundred dollar bill – the lowest single denomination in the bag. The porter left the room saying that if Daniel wanted anything, anything at all, then he should just ask for him – Jerry – and he'd be more than happy to arrange it. Daniel closed the door behind him saying that he would. Only after Jerry had left did Daniel finally relax.

He took off his jacket and threw it onto a chair.

Now that he was alone the exertion of the last several hours finally caught up with him. He was so far past tired it wasn't funny, yet he didn't want to go to bed; there was still far too much swimming around his head for him to even consider sleep.

What he needed was a shower. And maybe some fresh clothes but he'd deal with that in the morning, or at least when it was light. He was sure Jerry would get him something appropriate, if he asked.

He looked around the room – it was one of the few the hotel had available, and it was also one of the most expensive. He knew that the professor had told him to keep a low profile, but for this one night it'd have to do. Daniel moved through the main area of the room into the bathroom. The room was huge and decorated with expensive marble and gold.

'This is bigger than my bedroom at home,' he whispered.

Home.

Daniel broke down into tears with the realisation that he'd never be able to go back to the place where he grew up in. The place where he'd had his surprise birthday party only yesterday, the place where his parents – no matter what the truth of the matter may be, he would always think of them as his real parents – were killed. He suddenly realised that he hadn't even asked what had happened to their bodies. Were they just lying in their bedroom waiting to be discovered weeks from now? Or had the professor called the police and had them treated with the respect and dignity they deserved?

He hoped it was the latter.

He kicked off his boots, pulled off the rest of his clothes and tossed them to the floor. The shower was a wide, tiled space with only a glass wall separating the wet area from the dry. He turned the shower dial and a powerful jet of hot water shot out of the beaded head above him. It was the perfect temperature; hot enough to ease away any aches and pains, but not so hot as to scald.

Steam started to fill the room and for a minute he just stood under the jet of water and let the sensation flow over him.

On a waist-high shelf were an array of the hotel's toiletries – he chose an expensive brand of musk and sandalwood – and, as he washed, it was almost as if he was cleaning away the turmoil. That the simple act of shampooing his hair and using the foamy shower gel would strip away his pain.

Almost, but not quite.

Brennan, Davis and Lithgow pulled up outside the Carlton Hyatt Hotel. They had taken off the distinctive Immigration jackets and wore their shirts open-necked. Brennan led the way in through the wide glass doors and strode up to the central concierge desk. A pretty, blond woman in a light grey dress suit stood on the other side and greeted him with a wide dazzling-white smile.

'Good morning, sir, how may I help you?'

Brennan held up a wallet which showed his image and a badge. 'Hi there, honey,' he said; his accent now a southern-state drawl. 'Mitch Buchanan, Homeland Security. These men are with me.'

The woman's eyes widened. 'Is there a problem?'

'I need you to go get your manager for me, sweetheart.'

'Certainly.' She picked up a telephone and dialled a number. 'Mr Travis,' she said after a moment, 'there are some men here from Homeland Security; they want to speak with you. It sounds important. Yes, I'll send them straight through.' She put down the phone. 'Mr Travis says to go right on through to his office,' she said to Brennan, pointing to a set of double doors to her right. 'Here, you'll need this card to get through to our private area.'

'Thanks,' Brennan replied, taking the card. 'Just through here, yeah?'

The woman nodded. 'His office is straight along the corridor, you can't miss it.'

'That's great. Oh, and don't alert anyone else, okay honey?' Brennan leaned in a little closer to her. 'We need to keep this low key.'

'Yes, of course.'

Brennan smiled at her then led his men around to the right of the desk, up to the double doors and swiped the card he'd been given. The doors opened wide on silent hinges and led into a small concourse area with numerous doors leading off to either side. Twelve metres away, in the open doorway of his office, Bartholomew Travis stood waiting for them with an anxious expression on his face.

Brennan breezed past him without as much as a pause. 'Mr Travis, right?'

'Er, yes,' the manager replied. 'Do come in.' He was a pale, balding man in his late fifties. The blue suit he wore shimmered as the light caught it, and clashed with his white shirt and pink tie. His shoes were deep grey.

Brennan sized-up his mark in a heartbeat. He held up his wallet again. 'Mitch Buchanan, Homeland Security.'

'What is it I can I do for you?'

Brennan waved Davis and Lithgow into the room. 'We've been tracking a hostile from D.C. and have reason to believe this individual is currently staying in one of your rooms. Now I'm sure that you want us to deal with this matter as quickly and as quietly as possible, am I right?'

'Yes. Yes, of course. Are we in any danger?' Whatever colour was left in Travis's face drained away.

Brennan's face hardened. 'There is the potential for that, sir. But let's hope it doesn't get that far, huh?'

'Should we evacuate the building? We have several hundred guests staying here at the moment, you know.'

'I'm going to have to ask you to not do that, sir,' Brennan answered. 'Any suggestion that something be amiss could tip the hostile off to our presence. What I will need you to do, however, is enable my man here access to your system. We need to identify which room the hostile's in then neutralize any threat he may offer. As quick as possible.'

'Of course. Here, use my screen.'

Travis moved around the manager's desk and tapped at the screen.

'I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside, sir,' Brennan said. 'We may find sensitive information which, if you knew, could be hazardous to your safety. I'm sure you understand.'

Travis nodded gravely in agreement. It looked for a moment as though he might actually faint.

'We'll let you know when it's safe to come back in,' Brennan said as Davis ushered Travis out of the room, closing the office doors behind him.

Before Brennan had even turned around Lithgow had found the information they needed. 'Eleven rooms with new occupancy today – only one without any credit details. Registered under the name of Smith.'

'That's our boy. He thinks he's smart, but who in their right mind checks into a hotel and pays cash? What's the room number?'

'Twenty-two nineteen; the Bridal Suite.'

'Got to hand it to the kid,' Brennan said with a smile, 'he's going out in style.'

Daniel stood barefoot on the three-centimetre thick carpet in the darkened room, dressed in a pristine-white hotel bath robe and gazed out of the window. In his hand he held a glass of ice-cold orange juice. Daniel sipped at the drink and scrunched the soft fibres of the carpet between his toes, gently rocking to and fro.

From this height he could see in the distance what looked like the main bridge over the Potomac River; beyond that were the lights of Ronald Reagan Airport. Way over to his left he could just make out a paling in the night sky – dawn couldn't be far off and, in the streets below, the city was coming to life. There was something peaceful about this time of day, something tranquil.

It was as if the city was being born anew; innocent and fresh, full of hopes and dreams. Had he been born anew? Was he like a city coming to life? If so, what would the day to come bring? Where would he be when darkness fell once more? The weight of all that had happened seemed to descend on him all at once and he suddenly became very tired.

Now was the time to sleep. He put the glass of juice onto a table, pulled the bathrobe tighter against his chest and, rubbing a hand through his damp hair, walked with heavy steps into the huge bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Brennan moved along the plush corridor of the twenty-second floor, flanked by Davis and Lithgow. They all had drawn weapons, but only Brennan's gun contained tranquilliser darts instead of bullets.

They silently passed by rooms twenty-two seventeen and twenty-two eighteen and stepped slowly up to the large cream-coloured door of twenty-two nineteen. The numbers were designed in a floral pattern, and had equally flowery lettering below which proclaimed it as 'The Bridal Suite'.

Davis took position on the left hand side of the door, opposite Lithgow, and pressed the infrared security key Travis had given him against the magnetic lock mechanism.

'It'll unlock any door in the hotel,' Travis had said in a trembling voice, as he handed over the key outside his office, 'overriding any additional locking that may have activated from the inside.'

The door locks clicked open with minimal noise, and Brennan eased the door open with his gloved fingertips. The large room beyond was quiet and dark. Brennan nodded. He was the first to step into the room, quickly followed by his men.

The room opened up after three metres and led off to the bedroom and bathroom. Brennan pointed at finger at his own chest then at Davis, and then pointed towards the bedroom. He then indicated that Lithgow head towards the bathroom. They both nodded, confirming that they had understood the order.

Brennan, with Davis a metre behind, made his way silently towards the bedroom door and reached out a hand to the gold-coloured handle. He eased it down and nudged the door open. A moment later both he and Davis switched on a torch sitting atop their weapons, sending two brilliant white spears of light into the room. They focused the beams at the bed, and the shape under the sheets.

'Freeze! ' Brennan yelled as both men advanced into the room. 'Do not move!'

But the shape under the covers did move. In fact both shapes under the covers moved.

'I said freeze,' Brennan yelled again. 'If you move we will fire.'

A woman's scream broke through the darkness.

Davis flicked the wall light on. Lying in the bed, screaming her head off, was a large-breasted woman, naked as the day she was born. Next to her, reaching for a pair of glasses was an overweight man; his chest and back hairier than his head.

He held up his hands. 'Don't shoot, don't shoot!'

Brennan stared at the couple for a few seconds. 'Who the hell are you?'

'Malcolm Kinley,' the man answered. 'My name's Malcolm Kinley. Please don't shoot.'

'Tell her to shut up,' Brennan ordered him. 'I am not going to shoot you.'

Malcolm turned to the woman. 'Stop screaming, Tanya. Tanya, please stop screaming. It's alright.'

'Alright?' Tanya yelled back. 'What are you goddamn talking about? Gunmen burst into our room and you tell me it's alright? Are you out of your freakin' mind?'

'Tanya, please?'

Brennan aimed his pistol at her – the beam of light pointed at her stomach. She screamed even louder.

The thud as the dart hit her stopped her mid-scream. She looked at it, perplexed, for a moment before speaking. 'You bast –'

She slumped back down onto the bed, unconscious.

'Okay, Malcolm,' Brennan said, 'listen to me very carefully. I want you to get out of the bed, slowly, and move into the next room.'

Malcolm nodded and, still holding his hands up, slid out from under the sheets.

'For God's sake man, put a nightgown or something on,' Brennan told him.

Malcolm nodded again and reached for his robe on the carpet. He wrapped it around him and moved quickly past Brennan into the main room.

'Get the dart back and cover her up,' Brennan said to Davis, then followed Malcolm into the room. 'Sit down.'

Lithgow appeared from out of the bathroom, shaking his head. 'No one else here.'

'Okay, Malcolm,' Brennan said, turning to him, 'I want you to tell me what's going on. Where's the boy?'

'What boy?' Malcolm replied, his brow furrowing. 'I... I don't know any boy.'

'You paid cash for this room, you registered as "Smith" and you're in the Bridal Suite. Now I may be wrong but I'm guessing that you and little miss screamer in there are not newlyweds.'

'Er... well, you see –'

'So I'm asking you, where's the boy? Where's John Smith?'

'I don't know any John Smith,' Malcolm replied, looking between Brennan and Lithgow. 'There's only the two of us here. Tanya's my secretary, okay? Was my secretary, I guess. I'm not sure she'll be too happy when she wakes up.' His eyes widened in alarm. 'She will wake up, won't she?'

'Yes. Continue.'

Davis came out of the bedroom holding the dart.

'I paid cash for the room because... well, because my wife checks my credit statements. I didn't want her to know what I was doing. Obviously. I signed us in as "Smith" 'cos I thought it would be, I don't know... discreet?' Malcolm shifted in his silk, pagoda-patterned robe. 'Am I in trouble? I mean, I know that strictly speaking this is wrong but it's not a criminal offence. Is it?'

'Damn it!' It was not often that Brennan lost his composure, and the outburst surprised his men. 'He's not here. Let's go.'

'But the taxi dropped him off outside,' Davis said.

'So he's smart enough to not to be stupid,' Brennan replied. He moved over to the window, pulled back the drapes and looked out onto the lights of the buildings beyond. 'There are a dozen hotels within a fifteen minute walk of here, and what if he got another cab? He could be anywhere by now. We need to get eyes up. Come on. Let's go.'

Brennan holstered his gun and made for the door, Lithgow and Davis followed suit.

'So, we're good then?' Malcolm asked. The three men stopped, turned and stared at him. 'Are we?'

The pale thin light of the dawn filtered in through the bedroom window of the Ambassador's Suite of the Cerrillo Regency Hotel, three blocks to the west of the Carlton Hyatt, and over the sleeping figure of Daniel Henstock.

He lay curled up with his knees pulled in tight to his chest. The cotton sheet over him moved up and down in a slow, rhythmic beat.
CHAPTER 5

Brennan, Lithgow and Davis had their Immigration officer jackets back on and were huddled into a small office in a side wing of Dulles airport. Lithgow tapped away at a black computer keypad.

'It'll only take a few seconds to get through the security wall,' he said. A smile creased his lips. 'These boys think their systems are so good.'

'Just bring up the files,' Brennan told him, his voice cold and flat. 'I don't think any of us can polish the medals they'll give us for this gig, just yet.'

'Sir.' Lithgow continued tapping the keypad buttons. 'Right, I'm in.'

'Bring up the arrival records for the kid's flight,' Brennan said.

Lithgow highlighted the file and displayed the arrivals details of Daniel's plane from Heathrow. He entered "Smith, John" into a search criteria field. The screen flashed back – "No results found".

'Hack into Heathrow's flight records and compare the two,' Brennan told him. 'We know he was on that flight so let's see how he got through.'

'Heathrow'll take me a little longer,' Lithgow said. 'Our lot know the meaning of security.'

'Just do it.'

'Who is this kid?' Davis asked. His words were tinged with grudging admiration.

Brennan gave him a cold stare. 'What?'

'I mean, he gets on a flight at Heathrow using a false ID and somehow gets through immigration here, he then takes a cab to a hotel and doesn't stay at it. He's just sixteen, right? And by himself? So who is he?'

'He's a job,' Brennan spat. 'That's all we need to know.'

'He's a smart job,' Lithgow added.

'Yeah, I get it,' Brennan told them. 'He's a teenager and he's smart. I'm not sure about you two but I'm not overwhelmed about the fact that a kid managed to evade us. Not the sort of thing I want going on my record. So do me a favour; find out how he did it and let's try not to make this any worse than it is.'

'Yes sir.'

'Okay, I'm into Heathrow central,' Lithgow said. 'Calling up flight 7034 and comparing passengers with Dulles arrivals.'

The details of passenger names were displayed as a split screen comparison on the monitor, each name in a separate cell. In the Dulles records one cell flashed red. The name read "Williams, Peter Gordon".

'He had another ID,' Lithgow said.

Brennan took out his black phone and pressed a button. 'It's not just the ID,' he said as he waited for the call to be connected. 'He would've needed to pass a print scan to match the DNA card he had.'

The call clicked through. 'Yes.'

Brennan inwardly sighed at the mere sound of the man's voice. 'Tiberius has managed to evade capture,' he said.

There was a moment's pause before Control replied. 'That's disappointing news.'

'Yes, sir,' Brennan continued. 'It seems that he was in possession of a second ID with matching security measures, so that he could get through immigration at Dulles. He then disappeared into Washington. We have the name he's now using.'

'I see.' Control paused. 'I did send three of you, didn't I?'

'Yes sir.'

'To take charge of a child?'

Control's voice dripped sarcasm and Brennan felt an urge to fly back to London and shove the phone into the man's mouth. 'Yes sir.'

'Do you have any lead as to where he might be?'

'Somewhere within Washington city limits, as of thirty-five minutes ago.'

Another pause. 'I must say that I'm deeply unimpressed, Mr Brennan. I had hoped for better.'

'We'll go into the city and find him.'

'No.'

'Then what are your orders?'

'Return to base. We know from what happened at Palmer Court that he had help. Whoever it was clearly assisted him in his flight and gave him the subsequent ID.'

'Yes sir.'

'It's likely that Tiberius will dispose of this new identity, yes?'

'That's what I'd do.'

'Hardly a glowing recommendation,' Control replied. 'No, it'll take too long for you to go traipsing around over there searching for him. It's time that we turned our attention elsewhere. If we can't easily acquire Tiberius then perhaps we should encourage him to come to us.'

'Sir?'

'Return to base, Brennan,' Control said once more. 'All we need for him to come to us is bait. We find whoever helped him, you find whoever helped him, and before you know it we'll all be having tea and biscuits.'

The call ended before Brennan could respond to Control's last comment.

'We're to RTB,' Brennan said to his men. 'Pack up and make sure there's no trace of us looking at these records.'

'What about the boy?' Davis asked.

'Control thinks he's a fly,' Brennan answered. 'He wants us to build a spider's web. Come on, let's get out of here.'

Gregory Dryden faced a solid-looking white door with a high square window set into it and slipped his mobile phone inside his jacket, his gaze never shifting from the window.

A series of similar solid-looking doors, on alternate sides of the corridor in which he stood, stretched out along its ten-metre length. The corridor appeared to shine in its surgical cleanliness.

Dryden wore his usual maroon suit. Although "usual" wouldn't have been most people's choice of description. It had a high, square Chinese-style collar and was open to his chest, revealing a pristine white shirt beneath. Anyone who stared at the suit for long enough found that the edges of their vision began to blur, that somehow they found their gaze being drawn into the void of the cloth.

The fabric of the suit shifted silently, when Dryden moved, as if it had a life of its own. It didn't reflect any light and should anyone inadvertently brush against it they would swear that it was unnaturally warm. The first time that someone other than Dryden touched it with bare skin – they had slipped and reached out, grabbing hold of Dryden's arm – their hand went numb for three days. A rumour had spread throughout Brinkley House, although quietly because no one dared openly voice such a thing, that the material was not of this world. Many of those simply in close proximity to it felt unnerved and somehow distressed.

Gregory Dryden knew the truth, but the rumours were exactly what he wanted.

'Brennan and his men are coming back,' he said to a technician who stood several metres away. The man wore a long, white lab coat and clutched a Tablet to his chest. 'Make sure that as soon as he lands he's taken immediately to Brinkley House.'

'Yes sir,' Oscar Kent replied. He took a step towards his superior, feeling safe to do so now that he had been addressed directly. 'May I ask what the situation is, concerning Tiberius?'

At last Dryden took his attention away from looking into the room beyond the door. He focused the dark pools of his eyes onto the young Mr Kent. 'Currently on-going,' he replied, a thin smile on his lips, almost as if it amused him. 'There's a problem with the sequencer in this room,' Dryden continued, nodding towards the door.

'Sir?'

'The second and...' he paused, concentrating on a sound that Oscar couldn't hear, 'fifth pulse variants are out of alignment. See that they're adjusted.'

'Yes, sir.'

Dryden turned and strode down the corridor away from Oscar, the clack of his heels echoing off the walls; the young man in the lab coat made a note of Dryden's order on his Tablet and hurried to keep up with him.

Even though the white door Dryden had been staring through was six centimetres thick and edged in sound-reducing material, Oscar could still heard the faint scream of the room's inhabitant as he passed by, along with the distinct crackle of electricity.
CHAPTER 6

Daniel had to confess that Jerry had great taste. Admittedly, five thousand dollars ought to be able to get some decent clothes, but even so. Jerry had brought him three pairs of jeans, two pairs of boots, a new watch, a leather wallet and some jackets. He'd also bought some trainers – sneakers, Jerry had called them – a few pairs of shorts and t-shirts and had broken down four five-hundred dollar bills into more manageable units, just as Daniel had asked.

When he'd told Jerry that he'd be checking-out later that day, the hotel worker's face had dropped, but a one-thousand dollar tip soon picked it back up. Daniel said that he was on the run from his billionaire uncle and Jerry had been happy to agree not to say anything if anyone should ask about him.

As he looked in the mirror at the new "him", Daniel almost couldn't recognise the stylish young man looking back. The cloth hold-all that the professor had given him had found space inside a complimentary hotel case large enough to take his new clothes, along with a set of extremely soft white towels, a robe and a pair of carpet slippers. Compliments of the Cerillo, Jerry had said.

Looking at himself in the mirror the professor's words came back to him; trust no one. He took out the second DNA card and put it through a document shredder in the suite's main room. He removed the shredder's lid, took half of the thin shavings and put them into a side pocket in his new bag. They'd be disposed of later. The problem of getting a new DNA card could wait for another day.

Was there really anyone following him? Would there be anyone following him? Maybe the professor had just been paranoid. Who could track false DNA cards that were good enough to get him through two of the world's most security-conscious airports? But still, one thing his dad had always said was; better safe than sorry. Daniel closed his eyes at the memory, and a tear forced its way between his lashes. He couldn't go on like this. However horrible the events of the last few days had been, if he kept crying every time he thought about them, then he'd be a wreck in no time.

He wiped his eyes and made a decision. No more tears. He was on his own now and it was time to grow up. He had to be a man.

He pulled on a jacket and considered what his next move would be. Where would he go? He'd come a long way already, both in terms of miles and emotions; a couple of days ago he'd just been an ordinary school boy. But that was all in the past.

Of course – the past. Winston Churchill had once said that to understand the future, you must understand the past. He'd go into New York and see if he could find out anything about his past. If even a small part of what the professor had said was true, then there had to be some record of it. Daniel decided that if he were to make any sense of what lay ahead, he must first find out where he came from.

The bullet train from Washington only took thirty-four minutes to get into New York City. Daniel watched as the train passed through the tree-dotted residential streets of the suburbs and then the grey-fronted warehouses of the industrial ring; the landscape left behind as a blur.

As the train slowed on its approach to Giuliani Central Station at East 42nd Street and Park Avenue – right in the heart of Manhattan – Daniel took in his first gaze of the city that housed the world's most stable financial centre. New York had been the first of the global banking cities to re-build after the monetary melt-down twenty years ago. And as such it had become first among equals.

There was only so much square meterage that the developers could build on, so they went up. Square footage, Daniel reminded himself, not meterage – the Americans still used the imperial system. He remembered reading somewhere that they clung to the old form of weights and measures to stand apart from the rest of the world; to show that they would not conform just because everyone else said that they should.

Regardless, the skyscrapers here did exactly as their name suggested. They looked to Daniel to be so tall that their peaks gave the illusion of touching the very edge of space.

On the few occasions that Daniel had been to London he'd been surprised by the number of people moving around, but it felt like everyone in the world had decided to cram themselves into the streets of New York. If there was anywhere on earth where he'd be able to lose himself then it was here. He remembered that the most recent census stated that twelve-and-a-half million people lived within the three-hundred-and-five square mile confines of New York City. It was impossible for him to really imagine what that amount of people looked, or felt like, simply by reading about it in a book but now that he was faced with the reality he could hardly believe that people actually chose to live like this.

How could they breathe?

Moving around such a congested city with a case as big as his would be next to impossible, so Daniel made his way through to the long banks of baggage lockers at the edge of the station's main concourse and left the case there. The journey to the New York Public Library, although it was less than two blocks away, took another twenty minutes. He walked through its ornate entranceway and headed to the third floor and the general use terminals.

Daniel didn't have much to go on. The professor had told him that he'd burned the lab down a few weeks after Daniel had been born, but hadn't said where the lab had been. Would he have to trawl through every online report or newspaper copy? No; he had a name – Gregory Dryden. That might be enough to tie in with the fire.

At least he hoped that it would.

Daniel made his way up the central staircase; its huge, carved banister worn smooth from the hundreds of thousands of hands which had gripped it over the years. The general use room housed over three hundred terminals, laid out in back-to-back rows of twenty- five, each one within its own small booth. Nearly half of the terminals were unoccupied. Between the large, arched windows banks of floor-to-ceiling shelves held countless books; it looked as if it'd been years since the last one had been taken out.

Daniel selected a booth in the far corner – that way he could have a clear view of the entire room – and tapped at the screen. A paper-thin, holographic monitor sprang into life, with the screen automatically loading the World Online homepage. He entered "Dryden, Gregory" into the search criteria field and waited for the results.

In the corner office on the twenty-third floor of Brinkley House a red "Alpha Alert" box flashed up on Chris Matthews' screen. The last such alert had occurred two years before, when a Chilean reporter had dug deeper into a potential story than was good for her. It turned out to be the last query she had ever made. Matthews picked up his phone and pressed a button.

'Yes?' a cold, irritable voice asked.

'An Alpha Alert has just been received, sir,' he said.

The response was brief. 'Where?'

'I'm locating the source now,' he tapped at his screen. A series of satellite tracking images flashed up. 'Continental U.S., sir. East coast. New York City.'

'Where in New York?'

'I'm in the NSA MilStar system now.' The display on Matthews's monitor changed; replaced by clear colour images of New York as seen from above. A tracking sequencer displayed a triangular pattern and closed in on Manhattan; closer, closer, until it focused in on one specific point.

'It's the Public Library building, sir, 5th Avenue,' Matthews said. 'Locating the precise point of origin now.'

The image of the library shifted into a three-dimensional replica. A red dot pulsed on the third floor. 'Third floor, sir, general use terminals.'

'Get me a visual,' the quiet voice on the other end on the line said.

'Yes, sir.'

'And send the display to my screen.'

Matthews tapped at his keypad and a series of real-time images from the library's cameras flashed up. He pressed the screen to isolate the cell which covered the corner of the third floor room. 'It's with you now, sir.'

Gregory Dryden lounged back in his wide chair, in Brinkley House's penthouse office. The feed from the library appeared on his monitor. He pressed the screen and dragged his finger slowly upwards; the image closed in on a young boy sitting in the corner booth. The image focused into sharper detail. Dryden watched him for several more seconds before speaking.

'Hello, Daniel.'

'Shall I notify D-section, sir?'

Dryden had almost forgotten that Matthews was still connected.

'No. Let him think he's safe. He'll be making his way to us very shortly. But keep track of him. I want visuals; I want to know where he goes, where he eats, where he sleeps.'

'Yes, sir.' There was a soft click as the call ended.

Dryden continued to watch the screen. 'Looking for me, are you Daniel?' he muttered. 'Told you my name, did he? I wonder what else Alan told you. Did he tell you the truth, I wonder? Well, whatever it was, let's put an end to your snooping, shall we?'

He reached again for his screen.

Daniel speed-read what was on his monitor. Gregory Dryden had started his political career in 1988, became a Member of the European Parliament in '99, and advanced to the European Presidency ten years later. He'd resigned mid-term after two years, citing that he wanted to spend more time with his family. After that, nothing. As far as politics was concerned he had simply disappeared.

There was a photograph of him celebrating his MEP election win in '99, gripping the hand of his wife – Christine, the wording below the image stated – with both arms raised high. The article also told Daniel that Dryden, prior to entering politics, had been CEO of a pharmaceutical company based north of Oxford.

The display on his screen wavered as if the internet feed had been interrupted. Daniel watched in confusion as the display flickered several more times before failing completely. He tapped on the screen. Nothing. He tapped again, harder.

'Having a problem, there?' a girl's voice behind him said.

'Yeah,' he replied. 'It seems to have died on me.'

Daniel turned; an extremely pretty, mixed-race girl, perhaps a year or so older than him, stood off to one side. Her hair sat in large curls around her shoulders and her light brown eyes seemed to shine. She had a shoulder bag slung over one arm and carried a thin, silver laptop. Daniel's mouth went dry and he could have sworn that the temperature in the room had suddenly shot up.

The girl looked along the line of terminals. The screens in every one of the other occupied booths were working fine. 'Looks like you picked a dud,' she said.

'Yeah. Story of my life, I guess. I think there's something wrong with my fingers.'

She laughed. Her hair bounced and dimples appeared in her cheeks. She pushed one long strand of hair that hung down over her right eye to the side.

'It doesn't happen very often, but that's why I always bring my own.' She patted the laptop.

'Right.'

'Plus I never really trust these public terminals.'

'Yeah.'

'You never know who's keeping tabs on them. Right?'

'I suppose.'

She laughed again. 'You don't say much, do you?'

'I... Well. Sometimes I do.'

'I love your accent, though. British, right?'

'Yeah.'

'On holiday?'

Daniel paused. 'Kind of.'

She held out a hand. 'I'm Eleanor.'

'Daniel,' he said shaking her hand. It was warm and soft. 'No, Peter! I mean, my name's Peter.'

Eleanor frowned. 'Okay, well, Daniel no Peter, I've got to... you know,' she waved a hand along the line of terminals, 'meet a friend. I hope the next one you use doesn't break on you.'

'Me too.'

She smiled and turned to go.

'Do you... do you use the library much?'

Eleanor stopped, and smiled for a third time; the dimples returning. 'I'm sorry, are you asking me if I come here often?'

Daniel realised that he was, and only managed an embarrassed smile.

'I'm here most days,' she smiled again. 'It's pretty quiet here usually, except when the terminals break on tourists and I have to turn into an agony aunt.'

'I'm sorry,' Daniel spluttered. 'I didn't mean to sound –'

'I'm kidding,' she said. 'I'm kidding. But I do have to go.'

'Yeah.'

'I hope the rest of your holiday's error free.'

'Yeah. Thanks.'

Eleanor took a few steps then turned. 'Maybe I'll see you around?'

Daniel wanted to say something clever and witty but the words somehow got jumbled together in his mouth and what came out sounded like an alien language that he'd just made up. He gave up and just smiled instead.

He watched as Eleanor walked away and took a seat next to another girl, farther down the line of terminals. They whispered something to each other, giggled, then glanced back towards him. He felt the colour rise in his cheeks but couldn't turn away. He smiled and waved at them, which provoked even more laughter.

He got up and moved to the next available booth, aware that they were still watching him, but as he activated the terminal screen it too wavered and died. Daniel sat there for a few moments, confused – every other occupied terminal was still operating fine. What were the chances that the two terminals he'd selected would go on the blink?

He moved to different part of the room and selected another terminal. As soon as it was activated, it too wavered and went dark. There wasn't anyone else having a problem. He was on the verge of going over to Eleanor to ask if he could use her laptop when he realised what was happening. This wasn't random, this wasn't coincidence. He realised that he'd made his first mistake: If Dryden was in any way connected to what had happened to him in the last two days then looking for evidence in such a public place was a stupid move. If he was to learn anything about the man who might be responsible for his parents' death then he'd have to be more careful.

He moved away from the terminals and, with a final glance over at Eleanor, made his way out of the library.
CHAPTER 7

Miles Brennan handed the security guard at Brinkley House his watch, mobile phone and hand gun. The guard placed them in a box and slid it into a shelving unit. Brennan walked through a metal-detector arch and the light on the overhead gantry turned green. He waited several metres away from a ridged black door, which blocked his path. The click of a lock releasing came from the door.

'Step into the pod and keep your eyes closed,' the guard said. 'Exit the pod when you hear the all-clear alarm and make your way to the lifts. You'll be escorted from there.'

'How many times have I been here?' he asked. 'I know the routine.'

The guard's expression didn't change. 'Step into the pod, Mr Brennan.'

Brennan held the guard's glare for a moment then pulled open the ridged door and stepped into the E-M Pod; the door automatically closing itself behind him. The Pod was the only pedestrian entrance into Brinkley House and everyone coming and going had to pass through it. It may only have been four metres long and three wide but it was the building's most effective security measure. The door closed with a soft metallic whoosh, and then sealed itself. Brennan raised his arms, elbows high, and covered his eyes with both hands.

He heard the Pod come to life – at first it was a low-pitched hum but within seconds reached a high frequency as the magnets were activated. The machine achieved full power and the Pod was bathed in a blinding white light as the electro-magnetic pulse washed through the space. Long gone was the time when a simple metal detector was deemed enough. In this building no electrical device was allowed in unless under express orders from one person. And such an order rarely came.

After several seconds the light dulled and the beep, beep, beep of the all-clear alarm sounded. Brennan lowered his arms and waited for the door at the far end to open. The E-M Pod led onto a large concourse of dark marble, with a staircase in one corner and a row of lifts at the far end. Chris Matthews waited at the furthest lift on the right hand side.

'You're to wait in the outer lobby,' he told Brennan as he placed his thumb onto an encoder pad. A thin beam of red light scanned his thumb and after a moment the screen turned green. The lift doors glided opened on silent hinges and Brennan followed Matthews into the polished metal box.

'Penthouse,' Matthews said.

A barely audible high-pitched sound began. Brennan was sure the lift was moving but the usual feel of gravity was missing. There were no floor indicator markers inside the lift and for all he knew they could be standing still while, like on a movie set, someone was changing the scenery outside to make it look as if he'd moved.

'Takes some getting used to, doesn't it?' Matthews said as he saw the look on Brennan's face. 'The movement, I mean? Or rather, the lack of it. It's a new inertia-free drive system we've developed. No cables at all. It's all done with magnetic fields. Fascinating technology. We're trying to adapt it for military use.'

'Sure,' Brennan answered, 'fascinating. Am I to be briefed by Control?'

'I couldn't say. I've just been told that you should wait in the outer lobby.'

'For how long?'

Matthews shrugged his shoulders.

'Great.'

Brennan sat on the black leather armchair in the outer lobby for nearly an hour before the door opposite him opened and Gregory Dryden appeared.

'This way,' he said turning away and walking through into another room.

Brennan rose from the chair and followed Dryden through into an austere office. It had a desk, telephone, a computer screen, an armchair and a window covered with a Venetian blind. There was another door set into the opposite wall.

'Close the door,' Dryden said as he eased himself into the armchair. The fabric of his maroon suit rippled.

Brennan did as he was told and then adopted an army-like stance before the desk.

'Do you wish to explain yourself?' Dryden asked.

'Explain myself?'

'Your fiasco in America,' Dryden continued. 'The reason I brought you to D-section in the first place was in the belief that you were the best, that you excelled in this area.'

'I thought I was brought in because there had suddenly become a vacancy.'

'Quite,' Dryden gave a thin smile. 'Still, I wonder what gauge was used to assess your abilities, given what I've seen of you so far.'

Brennan bit his tongue and took a deep breath. 'Are you Control?'

Dryden held Brennan's stare then nodded once; slight and sharp.

'In any operational situation,' Brennan started, his shoulders squaring, 'there is always the risk of unknown factors which can ultimately lead to a non-positive mission status. Sir.'

'Oh, please. This isn't some parliamentary enquiry, so save your well-rehearsed soft-soap excuses for another time. You failed in a straightforward mission, Brennan; it's as simple as that. I sent you to retrieve a boy and the task was clearly too much for you.'

'You could always transfer me. If you think I'm not up to it.'

'I see that I can add petulance to your list of qualities. No, Mr Brennan, I am not going to transfer you. You're going to prove to me that your record, so far, is justified.'

Dryden tapped at the computer screen and a small plastic card popped out of a hidden slot. He placed the card onto the desk. Brennan noticed that the man's fingers were long and thin and had spotlessly clean, trimmed nails. His gaze shifted to the arm of Dryden's suit. There was something about the way the cloth caught the light, the way it... moved.

'Tiberius was assisted in his evasion of capture and in his fleeing of this country,' Dryden began, and then recognised the vacant expression in the grey eyes of the man opposite. He smiled and leaned back in his chair. Another victim for the suit.

He snapped his fingers together three times. 'Are you quite paying attention, Mr Brennan?'

Brennan blinked hard. It was almost like being woken out of a trance. 'Absolutely.'

'You will identify those responsible,' Dryden continued, 'and when you have you will escort them here for further questioning.'

'For what purpose?'

'For the purpose of those being my orders,' Dryden hissed. 'I don't require you to question them or comprehend their reasoning. Just carry them out. Do you understand?'

'Yes... sir.'

'Good. This card has what you will need.'

Brennan picked the card up, intentionally keeping his gaze low, and slipped it into his jacket.

'So what are you waiting for?' Dryden asked after a few silent moments. He reached under the desk and pressed a hidden button. 'Wait in the lobby to be escorted down.'

Brennan turned on his heels and returned to the lobby rubbing his eyes, the two doors between him and Control sealing vacuum-tight.
CHAPTER 8

Daniel awoke on his second morning in America in the less than salubrious surroundings of room 405 in The Hotel on the Park. He'd found the place in the Yellow Pages listed under "Budget Accommodation", and it was so far out of the city that it was half way to Connecticut.

The man on the front desk, who greeted him with a grunt on his arrival the previous evening, wore a sweat-stained vest – it may once have been white – scratched at his fat belly and demanded a week's payment for the room in advance. It looked as if he hadn't shaved in a month.

The "hotel" was in reality a near-derelict tenement of twenty rooms set over five floors. The room chosen for him had, so the man on the desk informed him, a view over the park and as such warranted an extra fifty bucks per night.

In the thin, grey morning light Daniel discovered that the "park" was in fact a dozen square metres of browned grass, squeezed in between other similarly derelict buildings, with a rusting two-seater swing on one side. A broken down chain-link fence surrounded the grass. Even so, it was the best view to be had.

As soon as Daniel closed the room door behind him he double-locked it, put the security bar in place and wedged a rickety chair under the handle. It was the sort of hotel room he'd only seen before in movies; the kind of place where drug deals and murders happened with frightening regularity. A place where the manager didn't ask any questions.

The night had been filled with noise: knocking water pipes, the sound of arguments coming from nearby rooms and the occasional gun shot from somewhere outside. His sleep had been fitful at best.

It was the safest he'd felt in the last two days.

He was happy, though, that he'd decided to leave the majority of his money in the locker at the train station.

He climbed out of the bed and padded across the sticky carpet to the bathroom. Switching on the light he noticed a number of red bite marks over his body, arms and legs. Confused, he ran a hand over one; it was lumpy and hard, and when he scratched it, it only made it feel worse.

He went back into the bedroom and pulled the duvet off the bed. A dozen or so small brown insects scurried for safety. Of course, he should've thought about that.

He took a quick shower – reluctant to spend any more time in the grimy cubicle than was necessary. At least he had the towels and soft slippers from the Cerillo hotel to use. He dried himself down, wrapped the large towel around his waist and slung one of the smaller ones over his shoulder. The slippers stopped his feet getting dirty as he moved back into the bedroom.

He picked up the TV remote control. At least the thin screen fixed to the wall worked. Daniel flicked through a number of channels – various news stations, one of the dreadful American soap operas and some children's cartoons – until he came across an old martial arts film. Bruce Lee had a series of bloody slashes across his chest and face but still managed to cut a swathe through a host of men determined to kill him.

Daniel studied Lee's movements; the way he almost danced between kicks and punches. Daniel re-wound the film a few minutes, dropped the remote onto the bed and adopted a similar stance to the actor. As Lee dispatched foe after foe, Daniel tried to imitate his movements. He'd never even considered martial arts before but Daniel found that his attempts were satisfyingly close.

The actor had died many years before Daniel had even been born, but he knew that Lee was still regarded as a martial arts legend. He had no idea what lay ahead but decided that being able to defend himself was surely a good thing.

When Daniel stepped out of the antique lift into the lobby the fat man behind the desk turned to stare at him. He wore the same dirty vest from the night before and had a wooden tooth-pick between his lips. An old black man with white hair, sitting in a wicker chair a few feet away from the desk, also turned to look at Daniel. He got the impression, from the look on both men's faces, that they'd been talking and had stopped the moment the lift doors opened.

'Goin' out?' the fat man asked.

'Yeah,' Daniel replied as he moved over to the desk. 'Is there a POD place close?' A print-on-demand shop would be his best option to get the book he wanted.

'You lookin' for somethin' to read, huh?' The expression on the man's face suggested that he thought Daniel was mad.

'I guess.'

'There's one over on Plymouth.'

'Thanks.' Daniel turned to go.

'You're British, right?'

Daniel stopped, and turned back. 'Yeah.'

'How'd you like it here?'

'It's okay.'

'Sleep alright?'

'Not really,' Daniel said. 'The bed seems to be infested with something.'

'Infested?' The man made the question sound like a statement. 'Really?'

Daniel nodded. 'I think they might be bed bugs or something.'

'You don't say?' The man rolled the tooth-pick from one side of his lips to the other. 'I'll call the exterminators at once.'

The black man sniggered, but the fat man didn't move. He continued to lounge on the desk top with a lop-sided grin and stare at Daniel through blood-shot eyes.

It was clear that he had no such intention.

Daniel gave him a cold smile. 'Great.'

Daniel walked into Rory's Print 'N Copy. The place was one large room with a dozen terminals sitting on separate tables, had two large print machines set against one wall and a curved counter opposite. From the smell of the place and the peeling paint Daniel guessed that it hadn't been decorated or cleaned since the last century. Two other people sat at terminals.

A man leaned on the counter, idly flipping through a music magazine. He wore a faded t-shirt and the badge pinned to his chest suggested his name was "Jimbo". He looked to be not much older than Daniel and one glance told him that Jimbo would have preferred to be anywhere else but there.

Daniel moved over to the counter and took out his wallet. 'One POD credit, thanks.'

Jimbo moved with such lethargy that it almost looked as if he was being coerced. He jabbed a button on a pad sitting next to the Cash Register. A small grey box whirred and a thin plastic card came out of it. 'Forty bucks.'

Daniel gave him a hundred dollar bill. From Jimbo's reaction anyone looking would have thought that he'd been handed a bag of dog dirt. He took the change from the Register and held it limply out to Daniel, along with the plastic card.

Daniel thanked him with a smile, which only seemed to irritate Jimbo even more, and moved over to one of the many free terminals. The screen came to life as soon as he tapped it and searched the name "Lee, Bruce" for available books. He highlighted one of the returned results, entered the plastic card into a slot and confirmed the order.

Daniel closed the search screen, went over to one of the printers and pushed the card into it. A couple of minutes later, from the wide tray half way down the printer, Daniel collected the printed and bound book. He held it up to his nose and flipped through the pages; there was nothing quite like the smell of a newly printed book. He closed it up and ran his hand over the cover.

A black-and-white picture of the author, in a classic pose with fists raised, dominated the space. Simple white letters to the left of Bruce Lee's face read Tao of Jeet Kune Do.

The man sitting in a light grey saloon parked opposite Rory's Print 'N Copy appeared to be reading the morning's paper. But that's what he'd been trained to do – to make it appear he was doing one thing when he was doing another. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Daniel left the shop – a small, brown paper-wrapped bundle in the young man's hand – and head back the way he had come towards The Hotel on the Park.

The chatter between the local police district dispatch and various Officers played at low volume from small speakers in the car's doors.

The man waited until Daniel had turned the first corner before neatly folding the paper. He placed it on the passenger seat, turned off the police band radio and got out of the car. Another thing William Cross had been trained to do was to blend in; if anyone had call to describe him to the authorities – and over the years there had been many – the best most could manage was "average". His fall-back position was disguise but experience told him that if you didn't stand out in the first place, then no one looked at you twice.

It took Cross less than two minutes inside Rory's to find out what he needed. He returned to the car, took out a small mobile phone and pressed the display window. Two more taps on the screen and the secure call was made.

'It's me,' Cross said. His voice, like his appearance, was hard to pin-point. Was it British? Australian, maybe? But then there was also a hint of American in it. His accent gave about as much away as his body did.

'Tiberius has just acquired a book by Bruce Lee on martial arts,' he continued, then paused, listening to the response.

'On his way back to the hotel, by the looks of it,' Cross said.

He listened to the voice. 'I've located the locker he's using at Giuliani Central if you want me to take his funds...' Cross offered, waiting for the reply.

'Understood,' he said. 'Follow and observe only.'

When Daniel asked the fat man in the hotel if there was a gym anywhere close, the white-haired black man in the wicker chair gave the same wheezy laugh as he had before. The fat man rolled the tooth-pick across his lips.

'There's a boxing gym down on Franklin,' he offered. He looked Daniel up and down. 'But maybe the "Y" on Columbus would suit you better, if you know what I mean.'

The old man sniggered again. Daniel gave the man a forced smile and turned to go up to his room.

'You got a book, then?' the man asked.

'So it'd seem,' Daniel answered without turning back.

'Goddamn stuck-up Brit,' the man spat after Daniel had stepped into the lift. 'What makes him think he's so special?'

Daniel was beginning to feel almost normal again after two hours at the YMCA on Columbus Avenue. He hadn't been able to exercise for the last three days, and his body welcomed the familiar rush of endorphins and adrenaline. The building was grubby, untended and smelled of stale sweat but it at least had a treadmill and a bike. When he ran it was one of the few times when he could actually think. There was something about the activity that allowed his mind to relax and his subconscious to roam free.

He thought back to the library. It seemed obvious now that Dryden had somehow been alerted that Daniel had search the Net for information about him but what kind of capability would the man need to be able to track him and shut down individual terminals? And to be able to do it so quickly?

He must've hacked into the library's security and been watching him to know precisely where he was. What sort of man was he up against?

Daniel glanced around the room and looked for any cameras. Was he being watched at this very moment? He'd taken four subway trains from Manhattan and double-backed twice before ending up at The Hotel on the Park but that didn't mean, if he was being followed, that he'd managed to lose them. Then again, if they did know where he was, why hadn't they tried to capture him?

He told his brain to ease up otherwise he'd end just as paranoid as the professor.

He needed to know more about Dryden, that was clear, and about the programme the professor had mentioned. Daniel needed to know where he came from. And if Dryden was so easily able to detect him looking then it didn't take a genius to realise that he wasn't going to be able to do that with standard equipment.

The first thing he'd need was a new phone. Okay, maybe the first thing he needed was a new place to stay. Keep moving; that was the key. He remembered a story he'd heard about Yasser Arafat, the one-time leader of the Palestine Liberation Organisation – rumour had it that he never slept in the same place twice for fear of assassination by the Israelis.

But what sort of life would that be? Always running away, always afraid. No, he had to find somewhere obscure, somewhere off the grid. He had to make himself the needle in the haystack, and what better place than among the twelve-and-a-half million people of New York City? Hiding away in the suburbs near the Connecticut border might have seemed like a good idea but he stood out too much here – his accent alone betrayed him as an outsider. In New York, though, he'd be one of the many and simply melt into the mixing pot.

Another forty-five minutes on the treadmill, he told himself, then a shower. He'd go back to the hotel, collect his things and head into the city this afternoon. He'd find another place to stay where they didn't ask too many questions. Tomorrow he'd go shopping.

He might even be able to fit in another visit to the library.

In the YMCA changing room, William Cross eased Daniel's locker door open. None of the other four men in the room paid him any attention.

Shielding the locker with his body he took out a slim metal box from his jacket pocket, opened it and placed it on the shelf. The box held three miniature black discs and a pair of angled tweezers. He removed the back casing from Daniel's watch and picked up one of the discs with the tweezers. He placed it carefully next to the mechanism then sealed the watch back up. Another disc went under the lapel of Daniel's jacket and the third beneath the insole of one of Daniel's shoes. Cross snapped the box shut, slipped it back into his jacket and closed the locker door.

He made his way back onto the street, took out his mobile phone and tapped the screen. An aerial view of the immediate area was displayed. He touched the screen where the YMCA was and drew his finger upwards. The display zoomed in on the building. He tapped the screen twice and the display changed to a three-dimensional view, showing the different floors and rooms. He tightened the focus, and onto the three red dots which pulsed in the changing room.

Cross tapped the screen again and the display closed. He returned the phone to his jacket and walked back to where his grey saloon was parked.
CHAPTER 9

Brennan paced his office while Lithgow worked away at the computer, the grey memory card from Dryden locked into a slot.

'Well?' Brennan said.

'It seems pretty clear from this that Control thinks a dead man helped the boy escape,' Lithgow replied.

'A dead man?'

'Alan Cedric Cuthberts, Professor of Genetics. Worked at Trent Pharmaceuticals until 2010, then crossed over to a government-sponsored research gig. He died in a lab fire two years later at the PathGen buildings north of Oxford. The cause of the fire was identified as an over-loading of one of the system reactors. It says here that the investigation team reported it as being suspicious but no one was brought up on charges.'

'So why does he think this corpse is involved?'

Lithgow tapped at the computer screen and a large image appeared, showing Alan Cuthberts. The time stamp showed last year. ''Cause it'd seem that Professor Cuthberts isn't so dead after all. He's still alive. Or at least he was a year ago.'

'And what's the connection between Tiberius and this guy?'

'Doesn't say.'

Brennan sucked his teeth. 'We're not being told the whole story, here.'

'So what's new?'

'Yeah, good point. Okay, run this professor through the F-R system. Centre the search on where that picture was taken then widen out to cover the immediate area in a standard pattern.'

'It could take months using face-recognition,' Lithgow said. 'It's not infallible.'

'That's why we're going to hit the ground,' Brennan replied. 'Let the F-R run in the background; if it picks up a hit then all the better. I want to know what this Cuthberts is hiding from. Why did he make out that he's dead? And what's he got to do with the boy? Work up his profile. Find out all you can about him; education, work history, political leanings, ex-wives or girlfriends, known associates; everything. We know the man; we find the man.'

'Already started,' Lithgow said, tapping away at the screen.

Daniel closed and locked the door to his new room. Even in the bohemia of Greenwich Village the place was surprisingly clean and spacious – it had a large bedroom, a kitchen area and small bathroom. It'd do for a day or two.

He dropped his bag by the bed and made a circuit of the room. Two large windows overlooked the street and from the fourth floor he had a good view of the surrounding area. The streets were well lit and in the warm spring evening all manner of musicians and entertainers performed in the plazas and parks. Car horns merged with the music to produce a strange, almost hypnotic rhythm. Half-past seven on a Friday evening and the weekend was well under way.

He pulled back the covers on the bed and shifted the mattress; no signs of bug life. He re-made the bed then went into the bathroom and ran the water in the shower. He smiled; this cubicle was a thousand times cleaner than the one in The Hotel on the Park. Within a few seconds the room started to fill with steam and he had to wipe the condensation away from the small mirrored cabinet over the sink.

'I hope you know what you're doing,' he said to his reflection.

In the mirror, just over his right shoulder, he noticed that the room had a large window, much bigger than he was used to seeing in a bathroom. It had a simple lever catch and when he pulled the window open saw that it led onto a fire-escape, which snaked down the side of the building into a darkened side alley. Here, tucked away from the main streets, the sounds of the revellers were muted.

Fifteen minutes later, after a relaxing shower, he walked back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the television. He flipped through the channels and saw that another martial arts film was on. Daniel pulled the Bruce Lee book from his bag, lounged on the bed with his head propped up on the pillows and opened the book at the mark he'd placed halfway through.

Brennan leaned on his knuckles over Lithgow's desk. 'Are you sure?'

'No doubt about it; that's him,' Lithgow replied. 'Taken three weeks ago at a traffic intersection just outside Lincoln.'

The image on Lithgow's screen showed Alan Cuthberts behind the wheel of a Volvo estate.

'Track the car,' Brennan said. 'Find out where it came from and where it went. Get me the registration address, as well.'

Lithgow tapped at the screen and an address appeared. 'Sittingwell House, Northing Lane, Scothern; it's a village a few miles out of Lincoln off the A46.'

'I don't like it. That was way too easy,' Brennan said.

'Hey, don't knock it. Sometimes we get lucky.'

'Don't believe in the thing,' Brennan replied. 'If it was that easy why hasn't Control already found him? No, something's not right. Get all this fed through to the car, and call Davis. Let's go and see if the professor's at home.'

Brennan's black 4-wheel drive Lexus eased into a field entrance on the outskirts of Scothern, with Sittingwell House visible across a wide, open field. He focused the dash-mounted camera on to the house and adjusted the digital display; a panel in the car came to life and showed what the camera could see.

'All looks quiet,' Davis muttered from the back seats. He held a Tablet showing a three-dimensional image of the house.

'Switching to thermal,' Brennan said, touching a button on the top of the camera.

The display of the house shifted into a red outline with two greenish-blue images showing on the ground floor.

'Two people, men by the look of them, in the kitchen area,' Davis reported.

Brennan shifted the camera. 'That's the Volvo,' he said. 'And the engine's still warm.'

'Looks as if they're cooking,' Lithgow said. 'Take them now, do you think?'

Brennan paused. 'No, let's give it some time. See what they do. It'll be dark in an hour, we'll go in then. Quick and quiet, no fuss.'

'It's still there,' Simon said to Alan Cuthberts, as he looked at a screen in the kitchen. The image of a black Lexus parked half a kilometre away showed on it. 'What do you want to do?'

'If they're coming for me then it must mean Daniel has escaped them,' Alan replied. 'It doesn't matter if they take me now. I can't tell them where he is.'

'Maybe that's not all they're after.'

Alan paused a moment before answering. 'I don't know anything that Dryden couldn't already know for himself. I'm tired, Simon. I'm tired of running and hiding. Daniel's escaped them and that's all that matters. I think I might just sit here and let them come. But you go; it's all been arranged and I doubt they'll even notice that only one of us turned up. Patrick will have more on his mind than to worry about whether both of us turned up for his ridiculous pre-wedding celebration.'

Simon shook his head. 'I can't do that. I made you a promise and I won't go back on it. You go. Let these bastards whistle for what they want.'

'It won't stop them looking for me.'

'It will if they think you're dead.'

'That hasn't seemed to work so far,' Alan replied with a smile.

'It will this time.'

Alan paused, understanding the hidden meaning in the younger man's words. He shook his head. 'No. I can't ask you to do that for me, Simon.'

'You don't have to. You've done more than enough for me in the past; it's about time I did something for you. '

'No.'

'Yes. I'll get the decoy ready. Go now, before they make their move.'

The sky was darkening with the onset of evening as Brennan scanned the house again with the thermal-imaging camera. The two people in the kitchen were sitting at a table and appeared to be eating.

One of the thermal images suddenly fell to the floor; its arms thrashing and its legs kicking wildly. The other image moved over to it.

'What's happening?' Davis asked.

'I'm not sure,' Brennan said scrutinising the thermal display on the screen.

'Looks like one of them is having a seizure,' Lithgow suggested. 'Heart attack, maybe?'

'Maybe,' Brennan echoed. It sounded as if he wasn't convinced.

The two thermal images on the screen seemed to merge.

'Get ready to go in,' Brennan ordered. 'I don't like the look of this.'

'Check,' the two men replied, readying their weapons and other equipment.

Brennan continued to scrutinise the screen. What was happening? It looked almost as the images were wrestling. Then the image that had been kneeling helped the other to a chair and moved away to a cupboard.

'He's okay now,' Lithgow said. 'Maybe it was nothing.'

Brennan frowned as he glared at the screen. There was something about the figure sitting in the chair. Its thermal readout was too deep, too red; too hot. The second image retrieved something out of the cupboard and put it into the microwave.

'This isn't right,' Brennan muttered. 'Something's going on. Let's go.'

All three men sped out of the car and began running across the field toward the house.

Simon leaned with his back against the kitchen unit, a fixed determined look on his face. Behind him the microwave whirred – its counter running down from thirty seconds. A block of plastic explosive and detonator spun on the turntable inside it.

Brennan, Lithgow and Davis had made it half way across the distance to the house before the fireball knocked them to the ground.

An hour-and-a-half later Brennan walked through the smoking remains of the house, kicking at the wet timbers and charred fragments, followed by Davis and Lithgow. The fire brigade chief protested against their entry to the property, but after a phone call from his superior he'd reluctantly let the three men with government IDs do what they want. The blue flashing lights of the engines lit them up as they made their way through the ruin.

'Boss,' Davis called. 'You'd better look at this.'

Brennan picked his way through the debris and looked down to where Davis pointed his torch beam. The remains of a mannequin lay next to a charred skeletal corpse in what was once the kitchen.

'What do you make of this?' Davis said.

A smile creased Brennan's face. Remnants of electric circuitry showed inside the mannequin. 'The sneaky bugger.' He dragged the side of his boot against the clutter on the floor. 'Clear an area,' he ordered his men.

Together they moved aside the mess and found what Brennan was looking for. The outline of a trap door showed in the burnt remnants of the kitchen linoleum. 'The sneaky bugger,' Brennan repeated.

He hoisted the trapdoor up and shone his torch beam into the hole below. A short ladder led down into a brick-lined chamber. Water had pooled at the bottom of the shaft.

'I didn't think this place had any underground workings,' he said looking up to Lithgow.

'Nothing logged on the building spec,' he answered.

'But there were two heat sources in the room when it went up,' Lithgow said.

Brennan kicked the mannequin. 'They switched that thing for one of them.' He looked at the corpse. 'The professor, it looks like.'

He climbed down into the chamber below the trap door, his boots sloshing through the sooty-black water. A solid steel gate blocked the passageway leading away from the small chamber – a digital lock securing it shut. He climbed back up into the kitchen. He shook his head at the two men.

'What's so important that this bloke'll sacrifice himself just to let the old man get away?' Davis asked.

Brennan shook his head again. 'I don't know, but I'd seriously like to find out.'
CHAPTER 10

It was a busy Saturday lunchtime and The Cell Shack shop on the corner of Greene Street and Washington Place was crowded with people. Daniel took a ticket from the automated dispenser near the front of the store and waited for his allotted number to be called.

When he told the salesman – Benny – that he needed a new phone but he'd had his passport and DNA card stolen, Benny's smile turned to a frown.

'You gotta have a DNA card before I can hook you up with a cell,' he told him. 'That's the law.'

'I'm only here for another week,' Daniel lied, 'and they don't think I'll get any replacements before I have to go back home.'

Benny's answer was a smile crossed with a grimace.

'I only need a phone that works over here for a while, just a few days or so,' Daniel continued. 'To keep in touch with my friends, you know? I can pay cash.'

Benny screwed his face up in a pained expression. He grabbed a pen, gave two quick glances to either side and scribbled something down on a piece of paper. 'I'd like to help you, kid, I really would.'

He covered the paper with his hand and slid it across the counter top towards Daniel. 'But there's nothing I can do for you if you don't have the correct ID. Everything's got to be registered and logged, you see. Federal law, sorry.'

Benny kept his eyes fixed on Daniel as he pushed the paper towards him. Daniel covered the paper as Benny moved his hand back and went to read what the other man had written.

'Nope,' Benny continued in a slightly louder voice, stopping Daniel from looking at the paper, 'nothing I can do, I'm afraid. Course there's always some back-street crook who'll say they can hook you up with something but I wouldn't trust any of them to save my life.' He looked Daniel square in the eye. 'Unless I knew them personally, like.'

Daniel slipped the paper into his pocket. 'Oh, okay then,' he muttered then raised his voice a little. 'I guess I'll have to wait 'til my new papers come back.'

Benny smiled and nodded. 'That's the ticket. And when you get them, you come on back here and we'll sort you out with something. If I'm not here, ask anyone. Just tell them that Benny Lebrano said you were okay and that you'd been recommended. Okay?'

'Benny Lebrano,' Daniel echoed.

Benny smiled again. 'You got it. Look, kid, it's crazy in here today and I've got targets to hit, so I don't want to seem rude but...'

Daniel said that he understood, thanked Benny once more and melted back into the crush of people. He headed out onto the pavement and walked the short distance to Washington Square Park. He took a seat on one of the benches near the central fountain and pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket. Benny had written a phone number on it along with the name "Pickford". If he understood the gist of what Benny wasn't saying, then this Pickford might be able to get him a mobile phone without asking too many awkward questions.

He put the paper back into his pocket and headed over to the nearest phone booth, searching his pocket for a dollar coin as he went.

Cross answered the call before it had rung a second time. 'Cross,' he said. He stood on the north side of the park below the Washington Square Arch.

'Back in the city,' he answered after a pause. 'Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village. He's just tried to get a cell phone and is now making a call from a public booth.'

Cross waited for the other person to finish speaking. 'Some back-street hotel a few blocks from here,' he said. 'You know, maybe this kid is as smart as you think he is. Even using face-recognition it'd be hard to locate and follow him around here.'

Cross paused again as the other voice spoke. 'So what do you want me to do?'

He listened again to the voice. 'Will do.' He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his jacket.

Daniel pushed the dollar coin into the phone booth slot, waited for the tone and dialled the number. It rang eight times before being answered, just as he was about to hang up.

'Yeah?' a man's voice said.

'Hi,' Daniel said, suddenly nervous. 'Would it be possible to speak with Pickford?'

There was a slight pause. 'Who's askin'?'

'Is that Pickford?' Daniel asked.

'Maybe. Like I said, who's askin'?'

'I've been given this number.'

'You don't say?'

'By Benny Lebrano. He said that Pickford might be able to help me.'

There was another pause before the man replied. 'Benny gave you this number, huh?'

'That's right.'

'Small wiry guy, right? Long blond hair?'

'That's him,' Daniel replied. 'Assuming that he's grown at least fifteen centimetres, put on about twenty kilos and had his hair cut since you last saw him,'

The man gave a grunt-like laugh. 'Okay, so who are you and what do you want?'

Daniel looked around him, to make sure that no one overheard. 'I need a cell phone,' he said, knowing that if he said "mobile" the man may not understand.

'A cell phone?'

'Yeah. The only thing is, is that I don't have a passport or DNA card.'

'Ouch.'

'Benny said that you might be able to help me?'

'Benny really shouldn't go around saying stupid things like that,' Pickford said then made a noise that sounded like he was picking his teeth. 'Help is something which my old pop used to say was for shmucks. I don't help people, buddy. I'm a business man, and what I do is provide a service. My time ain't free, if you know what I mean.'

'Totally.'

'I mean my time don't even come close to being cheap.'

'I can pay whatever you ask,' Daniel told him.

'You haven't haggled much before, have you?' he said. 'Where you from?'

'England.'

'Yeah, that'd explain it. What's your name?'

'Daniel.'

'Okay then, Danny, I'm gonna tell you what I'll do. You come down to my office tonight – alone, mind you – and we'll have a little chat about what it is you want and what I might be able to offer. Then you can decide on whether you can afford it, or not. And I don't take credit, my Brit friend. Just old-fashioned folding.'

'That's just as well,' Daniel said, ''cause that's all I have.'

Pickford laughed again and told Daniel where to meet him and what time. Daniel hung up and looked at his watch – he had a little over eight hours between now and when Pickford said he'd meet with him. He'd have to go back to the locker at the train station and collect some money, but that still left him with plenty of time to kill.

He wondered how busy the library would be this time of day.

The phone call had gone about as well as Brennan thought it would. Control had belittled him again in that muted, condescending voice of his. It was almost as if the man couldn't raise his voice above a soft, irritating whine. Perhaps he did it on purpose, to anger people even more?

Lithgow waited until Brennan's phone had stopped bouncing around the dashboard of the Lexus before speaking. 'He took the news well, then.'

Brennan turned toward him and answered the question with a dark look. 'Just find out where that damned tunnel leads.'

Lithgow nodded and tapped at his Tablet.

The beam from Professor Cuthberts's flashlight landed on the hatch control panel. He was panting from the effort of the three quarter-mile trek through the tunnel, and his breath misted in the cool air. The explosion had rocked the brickwork long before he'd reached half way and for a moment he feared that it would all collapse around him.

He reached out and pressed the green button on the control panel, entered a ten-digit code and the heavy metal hatch above him began to swing open. He switched off the flashlight and slowly climbed the concrete steps up to ground level. The flash of red and blue lights came to him almost immediately.

The orange flames from his house lit up a huge area making the night as bright as day, and two fire engines were dousing what was left of the property. Alan stood for a few moments looking at the devastation with tears staining his cheeks. He wiped them away with the back of one hand and blew his nose into a handkerchief.

'God bless you, Simon.'

He reached inside the hatch and pressed the red button on the control panel. The metal door began to close and after half a minute no one would ever have known there was an entrance to an underground tunnel there.

His reserve car was parked in a garage a few hundred feet away, and by the time Brennan was walking through the smoking ruin of the house, Alan was safe within his flat in Hessle on the outskirts of Hull, a glass of whisky in his hand. On the table next to him lay a ticket on the eight a.m. ferry to Rotterdam. Beside it lay an embossed invite to a "Superhero Stag party".
CHAPTER 11

Daniel couldn't understand why his heart was beating as fast as it was, as he climbed the steps up to the third floor general use terminals in the NYPL building. She might not even be there – although she did say that she was in the library most days – but this was a Saturday; would she be here on a weekend?

He walked into the terminal room and scanned the people there for a curly-haired girl. There were only about twenty heads visible over the low walls separating each booth, but there, in the far corner where he'd seen her two days earlier, Eleanor sat with the same friend as before. With a deep breath he made his way around the edge of the room towards her, desperately thinking of what to do or say once he got there.

William Cross reached the top of the steps and watched Daniel make his way over to the far corner terminals. Cross frowned. There was something about Daniel's body language which seemed out-of-place. The boy's shoulders were too tense. Cross scanned the rest of the people in the room for what could be the cause but nothing else appeared odd.

Cross continued to watch Daniel as he reached the far bank of terminals and selected one about half way along. It looked as if the boy activated the terminal, then a strange thing happened. Daniel turned to a girl sitting six booths over, and from her reaction it seemed obvious that they knew each other.

Cross slipped his black phone out of his jacket and tapped at the screen.

Dryden sat in his office in Brinkley House, sipping at an espresso when his phone rang. 'Yes?'

'You asked to be informed at once about updates on Tiberius,' Chris Matthews said. 'He's back in the NYPL building, sir.'

'Is he? On the terminals again?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Put the feed through to my screen.'

'Yes sir.'

Dryden put his phone down and looked at the images on his computer. Daniel was sitting by two girls; the one next to him Dryden had seen before. Tiberius was a young man, not unattractive, and the girl was clearly pretty but this seemed like more than just a chance meeting.

'Matthews?'

'Yes sir?'

'Find out who is the coloured girl next to him,' Dryden told him. 'I want a full report on her within the hour.' He hung up before Matthews could answer.

'If you have questions, Daniel,' Dryden said, 'then you only have to wait a short time before you'll have the opportunity to ask them to my face.' He reached out and tapped at the screen.

'Psychology,' Eleanor said, 'but I haven't decided what I'd like to minor in yet.'

'You want to be a shrink?' Daniel asked.

'What's wrong with being a shrink?' she said. 'Every third American sees one, you know.'

'I didn't but I do now.'

'It'll soon be one in two. I'd never be out of work.'

Daniel laughed and as he did so his terminal wavered and died.

'What is it with you and computers?' Eleanor asked.

Daniel's face hardened. 'I'm not sure. I wasn't even really doing anything on it.'

'Well you sure have a magic touch in killing them.'

'So it seems.' Daniel looked around and spotted the black hemi-spherical camera clusters dotted around the room's ceiling. 'I think I'd better go.'

'Oh... okay.'

'Would you... would you like to go for a coffee, or something?' Daniel asked. 'I mean, if it's not interrupting your study. Of course it's interrupting your study, but –'

'Relax, will you?' Eleanor interrupted. 'A minute before you came over, we were saying that we were pretty much done for the day. There's only so much Jung and Skinner you can take before you start to go crazy yourself. Coffee sounds good.'

Eleanor and her friend got up from their seats, packed their things away and all three of them headed out of the library and onto the steps outside. Cross stood on the other side of the street and, using the camera on his phone, zoomed in on Eleanor's face. He took a clear, full-face image of her and tapped at the screen, bringing up a database. He tapped the screen again; loaded her image and initiated a search run.

Eleanor hugged her friend.

'See you Monday,' the girl said, then eyed Daniel with a smile. 'Have a nice day, you two.'

'Thanks,' Daniel replied. 'You too.'

'So, where'd you want to go?' Eleanor asked after her friend had walked away. 'Bryant Park?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Sure.'

'It's just behind the library, and I know a vendor there who does the best iced Mocha.'

'Sure, sounds good.'

'So, tell me, Daniel-no-Peter, what's the deal with your name?' Eleanor asked as they sat on a bench with their drinks.

Bryant Park was busy with tourists and families alike enjoying the sun and open space in the heart of Manhattan. Daniel removed the lid from his paper cup and blew at the steam rising from his hot coffee.

'Are you a criminal or something?' she continued. 'Should I be worried?'

'No, no it's nothing like that.'

'Then what is it?'

Daniel took a deep breath. 'Trust me; it's better if you don't know.'

'A mystery, huh? So if it's not the police you're hiding from, maybe you've run away from school.'

'No not at all. It's... it's just complicated.'

'So tell me then. Uncomplicate it.' She sipped her drink. 'What is your name? Your real name, I mean.'

'It's Daniel. Danny.'

'What was the Peter thing all about?'

'It's silly really.' He looked around to make sure that they weren't being overheard. 'That was the name I used when I came into the country.'

'Oh, so you're an Illegal, then?'

'Not really. Well, actually yes, I suppose I am.'

'Funny, you don't look Mexican. So go on, tell me.'

Daniel paused. 'Are you trying to use your powers of psychology on me?'

'Trying to,' she smiled, sipping at her Mocha. 'Is it working?'

'Shouldn't I be lying down on the bench or something?'

'Sure, why not?' she said laughing. 'Tell me about your childhood. What's your relationship with your parents like?'

Daniel's face hardened. 'I loved my parents.' The tone of his voice and use of past tense gave a sub-text to the words that wasn't lost on Eleanor. She stopped laughing.

'Parents... yeah, I know what you mean. Don't get me wrong; I love my mom and dad – they're no longer together, by the way – but sometimes they just drive me nuts. Mom's about as French as anyone could be, which isn't easy in a country like this, and dad...' She paused. 'Well, let me put it this way; it's no wonder that I'm trying to figure out why people's brains work the way they do.'

'What do you mean?'

'My dad has... secrets. A bit like you, I suppose. You're not the only person in the world pretending to be someone they're not, you know?'

'I'm sorry I don't –'

'Never mind. It's a long story, not important.' She tapped the lid of her cup with one finger. 'I don't really want to be a shrink, not a regular one anyway. I'm looking to go into Behavioural Sciences, you know; profiling, that sort of thing.'

'You mean FBI?'

'Maybe,' she nodded. 'Maybe Homeland, who knows? I might even cross over to the dark side and go NSA.'

Daniel didn't know how to reply, so he just smiled and took a sip of his coffee. He winced; still too hot.

'Should've gone with my Mocha suggestion,' Eleanor told him.

'Not that keen on chocolate.'

She turned to him with a look of feigned contempt. 'That is the devil talking,' she said. 'How can you not like chocolate?'

'I didn't say I didn't like it, just that I'm not that keen on it.'

'You're a strange man, Danny...'

'Henstock.'

'You're a strange man, Danny Henstock,' she repeated. 'But still cute.' She took another sip of her drink as Daniel blushed. 'So do you have a girlfriend back home?'

Daniel blush deepened. 'No.'

'Okay. So, are you gonna be staying over here long with your complicated issues and illegal status?'

'In New York you mean? I'm not sure,' he said. 'I hope so. I mean, I'd like to.'

Eleanor took a piece of paper from her bag and wrote something on it. 'There's a spring ball at my High School coming up in a couple of weeks' time, on the seventeenth,' she told him, handing him the paper, 'and if you're still around maybe you'd like to take me to it?'

'What?'

'I don't have a date, well not any more and... and despite all the evidence to the contrary you seem like a nice guy. That's my number.'

'A Ball?' He took the paper off her and held it like it was made of precious metal. 'Thanks. That'd be great.' A thought struck him. 'Would I have to dance?'

She laughed and her dimples returned. 'I think I'd have to say that yes, you would be expected to dance. But only with me, okay?'

'Of course.'

'Don't I get your cell number?' she asked.

Daniel shook his head. 'I don't have one.'

'You don't have a cell?' she laughed.

'Not right now.'

'Are you sure you're not on the run?'

'Positive.'

She checked her watch for the time. 'Well, this has been nice. A little odd, but nice all the same. I have to go.'

'Really?'

'I said that I'd help mom cook the dinner tonight. Her sister's staying with us for a while and she likes things just so. She's very particular. It's a French thing, don't ask.'

'Wouldn't dream of it.'

'Your accent is so cute.' She stood up from the bench and kissed him on the cheek. 'If you do get a cell call me anyway. Well, if you want.'

'I will,' he said, and mentally kicked himself for sounding to eager. 'I will,' he repeated this time trying to sound calm and relaxed, as if gorgeous girls asked him out all the time.

'Cool. You'll need a suit for the Ball, by the way, assuming you're still around,' she said turning away. 'I'm going to have a knock-out dress so you'd better get something nice.'

'A suit, sure. I can wear a suit. I mean, I could get one.'

'Great. I'll speak to you soon, yeah?'

Daniel watched as she walked away from him, her curly hair bouncing off her shoulders. 'Yeah.'

Cross's phone bleeped. He tapped the screen and Eleanor Turner's details were displayed, along with those of her immediate family. She lived in Bensonhurst with her mother and younger brother, her father – now deceased – died in an auto-wreck in '25. He scrolled down onto the next page – she was in the top five percent at school and didn't have a police record.
CHAPTER 12

It was after nine o'clock when Daniel climbed the last few steps up from Delancy Street Metro. His first glimpse of Chinatown matched his expectations; it was dirty and noisy, with the heady aromas of exotic spices and roasting meats wafting from the many restaurants. Here, as the sun went down, like a great many of the less desirable parts of major cities, the more dubious members of society came out.

He crossed over onto the south side of the road and made his way west towards Orchard. Delancy Street led onto Williamsburg Bridge – one of the main arteries leading east out of Manhattan – and even at this time of night a stream of red taillights clogged all eight lanes.

Boxes of discarded rubbish littered the pavement – the sidewalk, he reminded himself – and the calls of shop owners merged with traffic horns and echoed off the buildings. He reached the corner of Orchard Street and paused before turning left.

William Cross stepped off the subway train following Daniel's and consulted the three-dimensional image on his phone. The three tight red dots at ground level pulsed with clockwork-like regularity. Cross moved to the exit and made his way up to the street. He watched as the red dots on his phone moved two blocks west then south, crossing over Broome Street and then turning left again after a short distance into a side alley. They stopped for a few moments before continuing, going into a building and making their way down into a basement.

Cross covered the ground to the side alley surprisingly quickly despite appearing to only saunter along. The red dots on his phone display had been static for a number of minutes – whoever Tiberius was meeting, they were now together. The sound of several voices in the alley made Cross pause at the entrance before turning in to it. He glanced around the corner and saw five Asian men about ten metres away. He put the phone into his jacket pocket and turned the collar up on his trench coat.

'Hey, man, where d'you think you're going?' one of the young Asians asked Cross as he headed towards them. All five were standing close to the doorway which Tiberius had taken. 'Think maybe you've taken a wrong turn.'

'I'm just...' Cross waved a hand, 'heading over to Ludlow. Thought I'd take a short cut.'

'There's no short cut to Ludlow here,' another of the men said.

Cross looked around the men and at the cars passing the alley entrance on Ludlow Street, thirty or so metres away.

'I can see it there,' Cross said, still walking towards the men.

'I said there's no short cut here, fool,' the man repeated. 'What's the matter, man? You deaf or something?'

'No, I can hear you well enough.' Cross made his way closer to them.

'Then what the hell are you doing? Move your white ass back down that way.'

Cross continued walking, his shoulders slumped and his head slightly bowed. 'I don't want any trouble,' he muttered. 'I'll be past you in a second or two.'

'You'll be dead in a second or two,' the first Asian man said pulling a wide-bladed knife from a hidden sheath on his back, 'if you don't stop walking.'

The other men fanned out to block Cross's path, each one pulling out a similar-looking knife. Cross stopped and held his hands out, palms wide. 'Whoa, there's no need for that.'

'Too late, idiot,' the first man said. 'You had your chance.'

He swung the blade at Cross, who seemed not even to be looking as the knife sliced through the air towards him but he snapped his left wrist out to meet the man's hand at the last second. It was so sudden, so fierce, that the man's hand opened and sent the blade spinning away. Cross jabbed his right hand, fingers straight out, into the man's throat. There was a snap and the man fell to the floor gasping for life.

For a moment the other four men stood with looks of confusion on their faces before they comprehended what had happened. They each lashed out at Cross with their blades. It was the last thing they ever did.

'Most combat,' Cross's Special Forces Instructor at Catterick had told him, 'as generally perceived by the public is a series of blows and counter-blows. Clumsy punches which form the majority of fights and often lead to long, drawn-out scuffles.'

But Cross had been taught that there were places on a person's body which, if struck correctly and with enough force, could either kill or immobilise quickly and quietly. The throat was one such place, as was the temple above each eye, the corner of the jaw, the nose, a spot on either side of the neck and three places on the chest around the heart.

William Cross knew all of these soft spots plus a dozen more – nerve cluster points which could paralyse a man; make him stop breathing; or simply induce a coma – and at Catterick he'd been trained to defeat an enemy with the minimum of fuss.

The four remaining men slashed at him with their knives and threw ineffective kicks and punches – one actually managed to land a fist against his head – but within a matter of seconds they all lay on the ground; bleeding and silent.

Cross put his hand up to where the punch had struck to find a trace of blood; the man had been wearing a ring. Cross dragged the five bodies farther down the alley and left them hidden behind a large trash dumpster. A quick scan of the alley told him that the fight hadn't been witnessed; at least no one was rushing to the Asian men's aid. He took out his phone, tapped the screen and checked on the position of the red dots.

Cross swore under his breath.

The tracking display was clear. The red dots were gone.

Daniel let the loud clang of the metal door echo around him before making his way down the concrete steps. The dull glow of an electric light gave the stairway an eerie atmosphere. It was humid and the stale aroma of damp air drifted up from below. He patted the bundles of money tucked into his waist, and silently hoped that this wasn't a mistake.

Another metal door that had a narrow hatch at head height sat a few metres on from the bottom of the stairs. Daniel moved up to the door and knocked on it, nervously. The hatch slid open after a few seconds and a pair of fierce-looking eyes came into view.

'Yeah?' the man said. 'Whaddya want?'

'I'm here to see Pickford,' Daniel offered. 'I... I have an appointment.'

The man behind the door laughed. 'You have an appointment?' He laughed again. 'Damn, where you think you're at? The dentist?'

'My name's Daniel. He is expecting me.'

The man gave another laugh. 'Sure, hold on.'

The hatch slid back into place with a clang. It was another minute before Daniel heard bolts being drawn back and the metal door opening. The man with the fierce eyes stood with an expectant look on his face. He was tall; well over two metres, and had a body-builder's physique – the sort that his dad used to described as "a brick out-house".

'Mr Pickford says that he's ready for his nine thirty appointment,' the guard said with a snort. He gave a sideways nod with his head. 'Come on.'

Daniel moved past the man and was surprised to see how modern and secure the corridor leading away from the doorway was. The lighting was bright but not over-whelming and the passageway had a surgical cleanliness. A small room off the doorway looked to be where the man did his guard duty. The stairway had been old and decrepit, but everything this side of the door was its opposite.

The man closed the door and slid three large bolts into place. He tapped in a sequence of numbers on a keypad on the wall and a magnetic lock sealed the door even tighter.

The guard saw the surprise on Daniel's face. 'What? Just 'cos we're in Chinatown, it don't mean that we're in China.' He moved past Daniel. 'Follow me.'

He headed off along the corridor with Daniel having to hurry to keep up with the guard's long stride. After fifteen or so metres the man stopped by another door and knocked twice. A man's voice from the room beyond – Pickford's, perhaps? – called "come in".

The guard looked at Daniel. 'Well, he don't want to see me,' he said and walked back down the corridor to his guard room.

Daniel turned the handle on the door and pushed it open. The large room beyond was an Aladdin's cave; racks of shelves lined the walls, and a series of perspex-covered tables sat in the open space. Lit from below, the tables looked white.

Pickford sat on a padded stool by the nearest table eating from a bowl of pretzels, with another man at his shoulder. Daniel had been wondering what Pickford might look like from his voice and if it'd been a contest he would've lost. Pickford was a small man; his left arm withered and twisted, and his eyes were two different colours.

'You must be Danny,' Pickford said. 'Come in, come in.'

Daniel closed the door and stepped over to the table. He suddenly had a flashback to school, he felt as if he'd walked into the Headmaster's office.

'Remind me again what it was you wanted?' Pickford said as Daniel reached the table. His accent was coarse, and typically "New York".

'I need a cell phone,' Daniel muttered.

'Right, right,' Pickford said, popping another pretzel into his mouth. 'Just a regular cell phone? Or can I tempt you with some other...' He waved his good arm towards the racks of equipment, '... stuff.'

Daniel eyed the shelving units speculatively. 'What else do you have?'

Pickford laughed. 'Man, I have everything,' he said. 'You don't have a passport or DNA card, right?'

Daniel nodded.

'Want one?'

'You can do that?'

'Okay, I'm not gonna take that as an insult 'cos I'm guessing you're new in town, but trust me when I say that I have everything.'

'The only thing is...' Daniel began.

Pickford's eyes narrowed. 'What?'

'I'm kind of in hiding, so the DNA card would have to be –'

'Say no more,' Pickford said holding up his good hand. 'Say no more. I don't ask so I don't have to know. Just tell me the name you want on the documents and it's a done deal. The only question, my young friend, is whether you have what I ask for in return.' He rubbed the fingers on his right hand together.

Daniel instinctively touched his shirt covering the bundles of money.

'Ah,' Pickford muttered, 'I see you came prepared. That's good. I really don't like it when people waste my time. So, let's talk about the cell phone, shall we? What sort do you want? Just a standard cell?' His eyes squinted. 'Or something a little more... special?'

Daniel thought for a moment, a smile on his lips. 'Special sounds good.'

A dozen different models of cell phone lay on the perspex table in front of Daniel.

'It's not so much what the cell looks like,' Pickford said, 'it's what drives it that's the key. You pick a model that you like the look of and we'll fix it so that it'll do what you want. So how far do you want to go? Interesting? Geeky? State-of-the-art, all-singing and dancing? What?'

Daniel unbuttoned his shirt, pulled out all of the bundles of money and placed them on the table. The man at Pickford's shoulder gave an involuntary gasp.

'You gotta excuse Luca,' Pickford said shaking his head and looking up at the man, 'he's new.' He turned back to the money on the table. 'So, state-of-the-art, all-singing and dancing it is.'

Pickford ejected the SIM card out of a small black unit and handed it to Luca to slip into the phone Daniel had selected. A charging unit sat on the table.

'So, you got X-ray, a sonar image builder, an optional holographic display,' Pickford told Daniel, 'the top five hundred apps, plus I also put in a little favourite of my own in free-of-charge.'

Luca shot him an incredulous look.

'What?' Pickford asked. 'I gotta soft spot for the kid, what can I say?' He turned back to Daniel. 'In my line of work I prefer people not to know where I am so, considering what you said about being in hiding, I've included a little dampening field software I had specially written that I thought you might have need of.' He leaned a little closer. 'Not even Homeland or NSA have anything like this.'

'What does it do?'

'The fancy, scientific explanation is that it creates a ten-foot, negatively-charge polarised bubble around the cell which deflects all GPS and requisition-mandate reflective signals,' Pickford said with a crooked smile. 'The less than scientific explanation is that it turns you into the invisible man. No satellite or tracking system'll be able to locate the phone. The only way anyone could tell where you are, is if they look for the hole you make but who's gonna go through all that trouble? Besides, there are more of these little babies out there than you might think.'

'What about making calls?'

Pickford looked blankly at him. 'It's a phone; you dial then you speak.'

'No I mean... I can't have my name on any contract.'

'Oh, I get you. Not a problem. This little baby'll connect to the closest network with the strongest signal. Don't worry about having to pay another cell bill either; free calls for life. Guaranteed.'

'Or my money back?'

Pickford paused. 'Yeah, sure. Why not?'

Daniel took the phone. 'Thank you.'

'Hey, don't thank me kid,' Pickford said, sliding the money over to Luca. 'You're getting what you're paying for. Call me old-fashioned, but it warms my heart knowing that a customer's happy.'

Daniel smiled and shook the small man's hand.

'I was just thinking,' Pickford said, his eyes squinting. 'With the new passport and ID card, do you really want to keep that look?'

'What's wrong with the way I look?'

'Nothing, it's just that if you want to pretend to be someone else then maybe it'll better if you look like someone else. I've people here who could do something with your hair, if you'd like.'

'What's wrong with my hair?'

'Geez, don't be so defensive, will you? I'm just saying that if you're gonna have new documents then why not have a different look.'

Daniel thought about it then nodded. Pickford made sense. 'Okay, what do you have in mind?'

When Daniel walked back into the Aladdin's cave, rubbing a hand through his short dark hair, Pickford was holding a plasma Tablet screen in his one good hand. He looked up with a serious expression.

'Did you come here with anyone tonight, Danny?' the short man asked.

'No. Why?'

Pickford offered him the Tablet. 'So you're tellin' me you don't know this guy?'

Daniel looked at the screen. It was a live-feed from a camera by the doorway he'd come through in the alley, and he watched as William Cross paced around. The man in the trench coat was consulting his phone and looking at the doorway. The man's body language suggested that he was searching for something.

'I've never seen him before,' Daniel said.

'So it's just coincidence that just after you get here this guy takes out five of my men and puts them behind a dumpster?'

Daniel looked at the screen with renewed interest. The man glanced up and spotted the camera – giving Daniel a clear look at his face – he froze for a second then put his phone into his jacket and turned away, heading back down the alley.

'I don't know who he is.' Daniel handed back the screen. 'I swear.'

'Right.' From the way Pickford had spoken the word and chewed at a lip, Daniel wasn't sure the man believed him. 'Right.' Pickford passed the Tablet to Luca. 'They take the passport pics?'

Daniel nodded.

'You look good with brown eyes,' Pickford added. 'Come back tomorrow and I'll have the passport and DNA card ready, the matching lens case and laminator too.'

A look of concern came over Daniel's face.

'Hey, kid,' Pickford said, holding his one good hand up, 'if I was in the habit of ripping people off then I'd go out of business pretty damn quick.'

'So you're saying that I just have to trust you?'

'That's about the sum of it, yeah.'

Daniel took in a deep lungful of air. 'I've been told not to trust anyone.'

'That's a smart thing to do,' Pickford began, 'and something that I'd normally encourage, but then I'm not just anyone. I'm me, and if you want the stuff I've got then you're gonna have to have a little faith. Just the same as me having a little faith in believing you, when you say that you don't know that guy.'

Daniel had no option. 'Okay. I guess I'll have to then. I guess we'll have to trust each other.'

'Smart decision, kid,' Pickford said nodding his head. 'Oh, and one other thing.'

'What?'

'I think it might be best if you left by the back door,' Pickford said with a crooked smile. 'Hope you don't mind.'

Dryden's phone beeped in his ear. He stopped writing the document on his screen and tapped his earpiece. 'Yes?'

'We've lost visual contact with Tiberius, sir,' Matthews told him.

Dryden paused slightly. 'And just how exactly how did we manage to do that?'

'We tracked him entering an industrial building on the edge of Chinatown over an hour ago –'

'And?'

'And there's no indication that he left. I've been running a camera scan for a two block radius since we lost visual but he—' Matthews took a breath '—he seems to have vanished.'

'Is he a magician, Matthews?'

'I... I don't follow you, sir?'

'Can he disappear into thin air?'

'No, sir.'

'Then he's still there. So find him.'
CHAPTER 13

Daniel turned into the alley alongside his hotel and checked to see if he'd been followed. Not that he was really sure what he was looking for, but it made him feel a little safer when nothing appeared out of place. It seemed as if he'd spent half the journey back from Chinatown looking over his shoulder, looking for the man in the trench coat.

It didn't matter to him that he didn't recognise the man outside Pickford's building and he may not have had anything to do with what was going on, but his father's words came back to him; better safe than sorry. If the man in the trench coat had been looking for him then he must have followed him there, which meant he'd known where to start looking, and that meant he must know where Daniel was staying.

It was all speculation of course, but better safe than sorry was sounding more and more like a sensible attitude to have.

He made sure no one was looking then climbed on top of a dumpster and had to jump to reach to lower edge of the fire escape, pulling down the spring-loaded ladder. At first his hurried steps rang out loudly against the metal of the fire escape so he slowed his pace. He didn't want people looking out of their windows to see who was moving about.

When he reached the fourth floor he slid his fingers into the gap he'd left in his bathroom window and eased it up then slipped into the room, pulling the window down behind him. He didn't have to put the room light on; the street light coming in from the windows facing the main road made it easy enough to move around, and it took him less than five minutes to clear the room of his belongings.

There was one more thing he wanted to do before leaving. He took out his new phone and held the piece of paper Eleanor had given him up to the light. It was late, perhaps too late, but for some reason he just wanted to hear her voice. He dialled the number and realised his heart was racing.

'Yeah?' her sleepy voice came to him.

'Eleanor?'

'Yeah, who's this?'

'It's Daniel. Did I wake you?'

'What time is it? Geez, Daniel, it's late. Is something wrong?'

'No. Look, I'm sorry; I just wanted to let you know that I've got a cell phone.

'That's great but couldn't it have waited 'til morning?'

Stupid! Daniel thought, she's going to think I'm some sort of psycho. 'You're right,' he said. 'I'll call you tomorrow.'

'Hang on. Are you calling me on a withheld number?'

'I think I might be. To tell you the truth I don't even know what the number is myself.'

She gave a faint laugh. 'Are you sure you're not on the run?'

'Positive. I'm sorry I woke you.'

'Daniel, are you alright?'

'Of course. I'll call you tomorrow. Goodnight.'

'Night.'

He took one last look around the room, making sure that he hadn't left anything, and left the same way he came. His next stop would be Giuliani Central Station.

Cross sat in his car outside Daniel's hotel, waiting for the boy to return, for two hours before frustration got the better of him. At least he told himself it was frustration. An impartial observer may have described it as anger.

Not only had he been placed in the embarrassing situation of having to call in the temporary loss of his target, he'd also had to endure the taunts on the other end of the line. And William Cross didn't take well to taunts.

Cross climbed out of the saloon, moved across the street and entered the hotel lobby behind a group of Swedish teenagers. As the manager sorted out their room keys, the man in the trench coat slipped past unnoticed. Cross made his way quickly to the fourth floor and along the corridor to Daniel's room. He pressed an ear to the door, but there was nothing to hear on the other side. The lock took him less than three seconds to pick.

He moved across the room and closed the curtains before switching on the light. There was no sign of Daniel ever having been there. Cross opened the drawers and wardrobe searching for any clue, but they were all empty. He moved into the bathroom, but the small cabinet on the wall also contained nothing. He rested his hands on the sink basin and considered his next move when the slight movement of the shower curtain caught his eye.

It fluttered gently in a breeze which came from a half centimetre gap where the window was not fully closed.

Cross pushed the large window up and looked out onto the fire escape.

'Smart kid.'

William Cross entered the train station concourse and headed straight for the baggage lockers. Even at this time of night the place was still busy with people hurrying to catch the last trains out of the city. He moved up to locker #1643 and attached a thin metal plate beside its key-code lock. He activated the decipher programme on the plate and a series of numbers scrolled across its digital readout.

In the ten seconds it took for the plate to identify the six digits of the locker's combination Cross became aware of a station guard paying him more attention than was ideal. A man hanging around the lockers at this time of night was bound to arouse suspicion.

Cross removed the plate and keyed in the six digits, the locker door clicking open.

'Everything alright here?' the guard asked at Cross's shoulder.

'Uh-huh.' He slipped the plate into his coat pocket and turned to face the man.

'Is this your locker?' the guard asked.

'Sure is,' Cross answered with a Texan accent. 'Is there a problem, officer?'

The guard unclipped the firearm at his hip. 'We've had a number of thefts from these lockers in the last few days. All of them late at night.'

'I see.'

'So this is your locker?' the guard asked again. 'Only you were taking your time opening it.'

'Sometimes I have trouble remembering the numbers for these things,' Cross said with a smile. 'You know?'

'If it's your locker, what do you have in there?'

Cross paused. 'Nuthin''

'You won't mind opening it then?' The guard put his hand on his gun.

Cross smiled. 'Sure.' He'd already taken note of the position of the other guards in the concourse, the nearest exit and assessed how much of a threat the man before him would be. He could easily get away, if it came to it.

Cross pulled open the locker door. The space inside was empty.

'Sorry to disturb you, sir,' the guard said fastening the clip on his holster. 'But we have to be careful.'

'I hear ya,' Cross said, forcing another smile.

The guard returned the smile and bid him good night. Cross waited for him to move away before easing the locker door shut. He ran a hand over his chin, and gave a smile that resembled admiration.

'Damn smart kid.'

Daniel eased into the chair in his new room and rubbed his eyes. He'd spent most of the cab journey to this back-street Brooklyn hotel looking through the rear window. The cab driver had smiled when Daniel had asked if he could make sure that no one was able to follow them and said that it'd "be his pleasure". It was late now, though; he was tired and wanted nothing more than to go to bed, but if the man in the trench coat had been sent to follow him then now seemed as good a time as any to see if Pickford's special programme in his phone worked.

He glanced at his watch. It would be early evening in London, but that didn't matter. If the dampening field software worked then he'd know within a few seconds. If it didn't then he would've given his position away. It was a chance he needed to take.

He opened a web-browser and searched for "Dryden, Gregory".

When Chris Matthews saw the "Alpha Alert" warning flash for the second time in as many days he decided to track the source before informing Control. It was then that he realised there was a problem.

'What do you mean there's no source?' Dryden asked in his customary, cold voice.

'Just that, sir. As far as the location programme is concerned we've no idea where the alert originates from.'

'That's impossible.'

'I know.'

'Then I suggest that you do something about it.'

Matthews knew that his answer would not be well received. 'We can't, sir.'

Dryden took a breath before speaking. 'You have state-of-the-art equipment. "Can't" is not a word I want to hear.'

'Yes, sir, it's just that there's nothing to trace. Whatever's being used isn't hard-wired, which tells us that it's a mobile device, but even that isn't giving off a reflective signal for us to operate a reverse hack. It's as though the device just isn't there. Which, as you say, is impossible.'

'Send what's being viewed to my screen,' Dryden spat. 'And I don't care how you do it but close it down.'

'Yes, sir, I'll do my best.'

'No, Matthews; no trying – do it!'

'Sir.'

Dryden turned to his screen. It was as though someone was researching his life story. Page after page of news reports from his time in politics scrolled across the screen; TV, print, online articles. Hundreds of them.

The usually calm man slammed a hand against his desk when he saw confidential government reports appear on the screen; top secret documents that should never have seen the light of day again.

'He's accessing Ministerial "eyes only" documents,' he screamed to Matthews. 'Stop this son of a bitch now!'

'We can—' Matthews began, and then corrected himself knowing that if he said that word then Control would go ballistic, 'we're not able to stop him, sir. There isn't anything physical for us to lock onto. It's like trying to catch smoke.'

Daniel's smile was the widest it'd been for days. The tiredness had gone from his eyes and had been replaced by a spark of enthusiasm. If Pickford's guarantee had been nothing more than an idle boast, his search wouldn't have lasted ten seconds. He started laughing out loud as the file count reached two hundred. Then he spotted a small red exclamation mark in the lower right hand corner of his phone screen.

He tapped on the icon and a message appeared "hack programme unable to acquire". Hack programme unable to acquire? What did that mean? He expanded the icon and read the detail it listed – "hack programme attempted"; the time and date; IP and physical address of the hack source – a building in London; along with a phone number. He laughed again. They were trying to close him down, just as they had in the library, but it would seem that Pickford's programme had indeed made him invisible.

Daniel isolated the phone number and dialled.

'There's a call for you, sir,' Matthews said.

'Not now,' Dryden barked back, 'for God's sake.'

'You don't understand, sir,' Matthews continued. 'You'll want to take this call. It's him.'

'Him? Him who?'

'Him.'

Dryden paused for a moment as he took in Matthews' emphasis. 'I see. Well put him through.'

Matthews connected the call and quickly hung up.

Dryden listened to the silence on the line for a few seconds before speaking. 'Yes?'

'Is that Gregory Dryden?'

'To whom am I speaking?'

'Is that Gregory Dryden?'

'I see that you're being busy, Daniel,' Dryden said. 'What on earth could you find so interesting about me?'

'You killed my parents.'

'No, Daniel, I didn't and I can only guess where you got that malicious idea from.' As he spoke he typed a private message to Matthews's screen – Trace this call. Find out where he is. 'Whatever you've been told up to this point has been a lie. I'm not your enemy; I'm your friend. I simply want to help you, that's all.'

'If you're my friend then why have you sent one of your men to get me?'

A reply appeared on Dryden's screen – Using same device. No reflective signal to reverse hack.

'What man, Daniel?' He typed another message – FIND HIM!!!

'You know who I'm talking about. He wears a grey trench coat.'

'No, I'm afraid that I don't.' Dryden took a breath. 'I don't know who you think I am, Daniel. I'm a retired politician, that's all.'

Nothing to hook onto, appeared on Dryden's screen.

'A retired politician who shuts down specific computer terminals thousands of miles away, just because someone types his name into a search engine?'

'I really have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Don't try playing games with me. I'm going to say this once, Mr Dryden; leave me alone, or you'll be sorry. Some of these government files would make for fascinating reading, don't you think? Particularly the one concerning the mine in Guatemala.'

'That's interesting, Daniel, because I don't think I've ever been threatened by a child before,' Dryden muttered with a smile.

'Then you'd better get used to it.'

'You may have found a way to hide yourself for the moment, but you really haven't thought this through, have you? What about those around you? What about the coloured girl, for instance?'

'What? What about her? She's got nothing to do with this.'

'Hasn't she? Well forgive me if I don't take your word for it. I might just have to find out for myself. Is she as invisible as you, I wonder? I doubt it. You see that's the thing about threats, Daniel; there has to be something of value to threaten with. You can't touch me therefore your threat is empty and meaningless. You've been able to find a way of looking at material online. So what? If that material ever found its way somewhere else – a newspaper, perhaps? – then how difficult do you think it would be for me to get an injunction against them or just have them closed down?

'Now the coloured girl on the other hand is an entirely different matter. I'd rather not involve her in this, Daniel, I really wouldn't but I will if I have to – if you force me to. Look, I'm a reasonable man, I'll tell you what; why don't you hop on a plane and come see me? We can talk about this face to face and there'll be no need for her to know anything about it? What do you say? Are you still in America?'

'Do you think I'm stupid? If I give myself up you'll kill me.'

'Kill you? Kill you? My dear boy, killing you is the last thing I want to happen. Someone has been filling your head with all sorts of nonsense, haven't they?'

'Then why are you after me?'

'Come and have a chat, Daniel. Let's sort this out like men.'

'I've seen what your men do: they shoot innocent people in cold blood. Leave me alone, and leave—' he had to stop himself from saying Eleanor's name '—just leave her out of it. This is your last chance.'

Dryden sighed. 'It's like that, is it?'

'Yes, it's exactly like that.'

'I have to tell you that I'm frankly disappointed,' Dryden muttered. 'I had hoped that we could settle this as reasonable, rational adults but I see that you possess neither of those qualities.'

'Leave. Me. Alone.'

'Daniel?'

'What?'

'I'll see you soon.'

Dryden pressed a button and the line went dead. His earpiece beeped with another call. 'Yes?'

'There was no possible way we could trace him, sir,' Matthews murmured. 'I'm sorry.'

'I'm astounded, Mr Matthews. I was under the impression that you were going places, that your star was ascending.'

'Sir –'

'But now it seems the star is plummeting.'

'I can find him, sir, I will find him. Please, give me the chance to prove myself.'

Dryden sighed. 'You have one day, after which, should you fail to deliver on your promise, I expect your desk to be cleared.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

On Dryden's screen more documents continued to be viewed; Daniel was continuing his search. 'One other thing.'

'Yes, sir?'

'Do we have anyone on the ground following Tiberius?'

'No, sir.'

'No, I didn't think so.'

'Just the visual surveillance as you requested,' Matthews said. 'It's probably just his paranoia. I wouldn't be surprised if he's seeing ghosts everywhere.'

'Thank you for that wonderful insight,' Dryden muttered. 'I really am most fortunate to have you as an advisor.'

'Yes sir.'

'Make sure that none of the data he's looking at reaches anyone else. And get Brennan for me.'

He hung up before Matthews could reply.
CHAPTER 14

Brennan sat once more in the outer lobby of the penthouse at Brinkley House, waiting for the door leading to Dryden's office to open. The young man – Matthews – had hardly spoken during the short journey in the lift from the ground floor but his body language spoke volumes. Something had happened tonight, Brennan could tell, something other than the explosion at the farmhouse; something which had provoked Dryden into summoning him so late into the evening.

When the door eventually opened Brennan noticed the man in the maroon suit was sitting at his desk, typing away on a virtual keypad. Brennan entered the office with his head low, determined not to look at the suit if he could help it. The door closed quietly behind him.

'I need an update on your search for the professor,' Dryden muttered without looking up from his screen.

'I could have given you that information over the phone,' Brennan replied. 'Why drag me all the way here?'

Dryden stopped typing and turned with one eyebrow raised. 'Because I so value your charming presence of course.' He finished the message he was typing.

'The need to acquire Professor Cuthberts quickly has been... magnified,' Dryden eventually continued, turning back to Brennan. 'I need him in detention as soon as possible. Like yesterday.'

'With all due respect, you didn't need to bring me here to tell me that. I could've –'

'Does the world stop turning without the assistance of the magnificent Captain Miles Brennan?' Dryden interrupted. He got up from the armchair and walked around to the front of the desk, facing Brennan. 'Does it? I trust that your men have the capacity to operate without you having to hold their hand?'

'Of course.'

'Then what is the problem?'

'There's no problem.' Brennan raised his chin and focused on a spot on the wall close to the ceiling.

Dryden sat back onto the edge of his desk and folded his arms. 'Good. That's good. When you locate the professor I want you to bring him here and place him in the holding chamber. This card will make the lift stop at the floor below this one.' He held out his manicured fingers; between his index and middle finger was a small plastic card.

Brennan's eyes flicked down only as long as it took for him to see the card. As he reached to take it Dryden moved his arm just enough so that Brennan's left hand brushed against the fabric of the suit.

It was like being stung with a thousand Nettles. Brennan snatched his hand away but his fingers were already going numb, the stabbing fire of needles coursing through to his arm. Dryden simply grinned.

'Terribly sorry,' he muttered.

Brennan swallowed hard and took the card with his other hand. 'Is that all?'

Dryden nodded. 'I look forward to your call telling me that you have him.'

Brennan spun around, eager to leave the room, but had to wait for Dryden to open the door. It was only a couple of seconds but the message was clear: know your station and don't dare try to climb above it.

'Matthews will arrive shortly to escort you down.'

Brennan paced into the lobby and glanced down at the fingers which had touched the maroon suit – they were mottled with red blotches and patches of white. He flexed his fist, wincing at the pain. As the door to the office closed Brennan glanced back. Before the door shut he caught a final glimpse of Dryden, still sitting on the edge of his desk, with a thin grin across his face.

Inside Brennan's head plans were already being made; he'd never been any good at knowing his station.

By the time Brennan had passed back through the E-M Pod and collected his gear from the Security desk his hand had little feeling left in it, and the mottled markings had become worse. It looked as if he'd dipped his fingers into a bowl of boiling water. The Guard glanced at the hand and grinned. It was obvious that he'd seen such trauma before.

Brennan strode out through the entrance doors, hardly pausing as he climbed into the waiting car. 'Go north,' he told the driver. 'As fast as you like.'

As the car squealed through the deserted streets away from Brinkley House Brennan tapped his earpiece and connected the call to Davis. 'Give me good news,' he growled as the call was answered.

'We managed to break through the magnetic locks in the tunnel after you left,' Davis said. 'It led to a lane about a mile away from the farmhouse. It seems the professor had another car stored in a garage not far from the tunnel exit.'

'And?'

'And Lithgow is accessing satellite data.'

'What's he found?'

'About ten minutes after the explosion the professor drove away from the garage, in a Nissan Toronto registration Tango, November, Eight, Seven, November, November, Victor, heading north towards Scunthorpe,' Davis continued. 'We tracked the car over the Humber Bridge but lost it in the outskirts of Hull.'

'Hull? What's he doing in Hull?

'Beats me. Why would anyone want to go there?'

'He might be catching a ferry,' Brennan said. 'Check all outgoing sailings.'

'Give me a second.' The sound of Davis tapping on a screen came through Brennan's earpiece. 'The first ferry leaves for Rotterdam at eight,' Davis told him. 'So far one-hundred-and-twelve foot passengers and seventy-two vehicles booked. The next one leaves for Zeebrugge an hour later. Neither ferry has a booking in Cuthberts's name.'

'Hull ferry terminal,' Brennan told his driver. 'Where are you now?' he asked Davis.

'We're on the north side of the Humber Bridge in an industrial yard, just outside the city. Lithgow's going through traffic cameras and private CCTV footage trying to re-acquire the professor's Nissan.'

'Keep on it. I'll be with you as soon as I can.'

'We've got hours yet,' Davis said. 'Worst case scenario is that we pick him up just before he boards.'

'Worst case scenario is that he's not catching a ferry at all and just wants us to think he is,' Brennan said. 'He could be in Scotland by now. He may be old but this guy's not stupid. Get Lithgow to search a wider area in case the prof doubled-back or switched cars. I don't want this guy ditching us for a second time. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Call me if you find anything.'

Brennan's black Lexus eased up next to an identical car in an otherwise deserted Brighton Street Industrial Estate, about three miles west of the Hull ferry terminal. An earlier rain shower had left the tarmac glistening.

Brennan tucked his left hand in his jacket pocket as he climbed out of his car and into the passenger seat of the other. 'Well?'

'No joy finding the Nissan leaving the area,' Lithgow said. 'He might have slipped through a gap in the cameras but there's only a slim chance of him being lucky enough to do that.'

'Switched cars?'

'We logged forty-seven vehicles either leaving or passing through the area within ten minutes of where we lost surveillance. I could still be here next week tracking the movements of all of them.'

Brennan twisted around to look him. 'So you've just been sitting on your arse then?'

Lithgow held his commander's eye. 'Seventeen were cabs returning to a dispatch office in West Street by the rail station. Only the drivers left the cabs, no passengers. Twelve vehicles went to residential addresses spreading out to a seven mile radius from Hull city centre. Three more were council refuse vehicles. The rest were lorries heading out of the area to the north, south and west, with five heading to the ferry terminal.'

'Good.'

'You want to hear what my gut tells me, boss?' Davis asked.

'Not really.'

'He knows we'll tie ourselves up chasing these ghosts, and while we do he'll slip onto one of the ferries. As you said; he's not stupid.'

Brennan nodded. 'What have you got on the residential addresses?'

Lithgow tapped at his Tablet. 'Eight are family houses, the other four are rental all with couples listed as occupiers.'

'You look knackered, boss,' Davis said. 'We've got a little over four hours before the first ferry leaves, so why don't you get some sleep? We'll do a thorough analysis of those addresses and wake you if we need to.'

Brennan turned back in the seat and sighed. 'Okay,' he said pulling the collar of his jacket up with his right hand and closing his eyes. 'Maybe I will. Just for an hour or two.'

The buzzing of Brennan's phone woke him. A thin, watery light filled the sky and a few vans were moving about the industrial estate. The time display on the car's dashboard read 05:29. Brennan pulled his left hand out of his jacket pocket and flexed his fingers. The skin was still mottled but at least movement was easier. He scratched at the stubble on his chin with his right hand then tapped at his earpiece. 'Yes?' The voice on the line started talking. 'Hold on.'

He opened the car door and stepped out into the cold morning air, slamming the door behind him. Davis and Lithgow shared a look.

'I don't know about you,' Lithgow muttered, watching Brennan as he walked away from the car and spoke quietly into his phone, 'but with all these secret calls he's been getting lately it doesn't really make me feel part of the team.'

'Quit your whining. You and me; we're mushrooms, my friend – just kept in the dark and fed sh –'

'Yeah, yeah, I know the rest. Even so...'

The passenger door opened and Brennan climbed back into the seat. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out an electric shaver. 'Right, then,' he said. 'Let's get to the ferry terminal. See if our man shows up.'

The boarding for the eight a.m. ferry started at a quarter to seven. Lithgow sat in a secluded office, an array of monitors in front of him. Each screen displayed the images of twenty cameras from a multitude of angles, showing foot passengers arriving as well as vehicles parking in the deep bay of the ferry. Face-recognition software highlighted each person and held their image for a fraction of a second as the programme ran in the background, performing millions of checks per second.

Brennan was located on the ferry, overlooking the boarding ramps, whilst Davis stood on the approach to the departure lounge. Each of them wore UK Customs and Excise uniforms. Lithgow checked the time stamp in the corner of his central screen: 07:45. 'Wild goose chase, do you think?'

'No sign of our man out here,' Davis said. 'The Zeebrugge ferry's about to start boarding. Do you want me over there?'

'Hold position for now,' Brennan told him. 'Lithgow, tap into the other ferry's security and start the F-R programme running there. See if it picks anything up. We'll hold here until the last second.'

'Will do.'

Brennan made his way down through the passenger lounge, passed excited children and yawning drivers. If the professor had provided the boy with fake passports and DNA cards then slipping onto a ferry where security checks were much less stringent wouldn't prove much of a challenge for him.

A cheer from a group of men at the bar caught his attention. They each wore a superhero costume and it looked as if they hadn't stopped the celebrations for some time. Drinking half-litres of lager before eight in the morning...

Brennan bit his lip and shook his head. 'That's a different life, Miles, a different life. Don't even think about it.'

He turned away from them and continued to head towards the main boarding bridge when he stopped and turned back. One of the 'superheroes'; one of three dressed in a Batman costume, stood off to one side of the main group of men. There was something about the way he leaned on the bar, facing away from the room. He didn't seem to be part of the group.

Brennan moved around to get a better look at the man's face, but could only really see his jaw. There was something about the man's body language which didn't seem right either: he didn't have a drink in his hand for a start and he wasn't joining in with the raucous banter of the other men.

Brennan watched him for another half a minute before stepping up to the bar, moving between Batman and the other revellers.

'Oh, look,' a man dressed as Superman said as Brennan reached him. His speech was slurred and it seemed as if he was having trouble focusing. 'Great costume. What have you come as?'

Brennan's grey eyes stared at Batman. 'Hello, Professor Cuthberts.'

Batman shifted a little and turned away.

'I think it's time to go, don't you?' Brennan said as he unclipped the gun at his hip. 'And don't even think about running. I really don't want to have to use this.'

'Wow, that gun looks real,' Superman said. 'Where'd you get it? Can I have a look?'

'No. Go back to your drinking. This hasn't got anything to do with you.'

'You can't talk to me like that. I'm Superman, don't you know? I'm the Man Of Steel!'

Brennan slowly turned his head and stared at him. Superman turned away and took a swig of his beer.

Batman pulled off his mask and faced Brennan. 'I'm not going to make a run for it,' Alan Cuthberts said. 'There's no need for the gun.'

'Good idea about shaving your beard. It throws the F-R software off.'

'Alan, is that you?' Superman said. 'I thought you were George. Where's George?' He grabbed the professor's costume with one hand. 'What have you done with George?'

'I'm George,' a man dressed as Catwoman muttered, raising his hand.

'Oh.' Superman's eyes widened. 'Oh, right.' He took another quick swig of his beer. 'Nice legs, George.'

'Thanks.'

'Did you find Simon?' Alan asked Brennan.

'The man at the farmhouse?'

The professor nodded. 'How is he?'

'Kentucky fried.'

'That's a terrible thing to say.'

'You left him there. You let him do it. Come on, it's time to go.' Brennan took the professor's arm and eased him away from the bar. 'I hope for your sake you have a change of clothes.'

Alan nodded, reached down and picked up a small canvas bag.

'Light the Bat-signal if you need any help,' Superman called, 'and I'll come flying.'

Brennan turned back to the group. 'So which one of you lot is getting married?'

The rest of the group pointed to a man dressed as Judge Dredd.

'Take my advice,' Brennan continued, 'don't.'

Alan Cuthberts sat, dressed in his normal clothes, in a semi-sterile security room on the twenty-fourth floor of Brinkley House, plastic straps holding his legs and arms in place. Harsh strip-lighting and white walls gave the space a bleakness that was mirrored in the sole chair, small desk and single doorway.

The door opened and Dryden stepped into the room, carrying a thin paper file. He eased the door shut and it sealed with a soft hiss.

'I think your interior decorator needs to move away from the minimalist theme,' Alan said. 'Or did he just have a bulk supply of white?'

Dryden smiled.

'Still wearing that awful suit, then?' Alan continued.

'Yes,' Dryden muttered, 'still wearing it.' He placed the paper file on the desk and stroked it with one of his long fingers. 'Rumour had it that you were dead.'

'I'm sorry to disappoint. I had hoped that you would be by now.'

'No. Still very much alive.'

Alan tugged at his bonds. 'Was that media circus downstairs really necessary?'

'Vital, I'd have to say.'

'You'll never find him, you know.'

'It was very clever of you, by the way, in using the reactor to cover up your escape. You had us chasing our tail for quite some time.'

'And if you think using me as some publicity stunt –'

'Not to mention the financial cost of re-establishing the Emperor Initiative,' Dryden interrupted. 'We've progressed with the programme, of course, since Tiberius; we've gone through the Caligula programme and after some... well, fine tuning, shall we say, we're now on the Claudius generation.'

'Sounds like you're running out of Emperors.'

Dryden gave a thin laugh. 'Not at all.'

'He's slipped through your net, Gregory, and he's far too smart to be fooled by what you're trying to do. Or to let you find him. Even I have no idea where he is.'

'Oh, I know where he is, Alan. I spoke with him only yesterday. He's in New York. At least he is for the time being, but he'll be back where he belongs – here, with his family – very soon. I must say that I'm extremely upset at all the unpleasant things you've been telling him about me. The poor boy has completely got the wrong impression.'

'What do you want with him, Gregory? After all these years? Can't you leave him alone? If you've progressed as much as you say then his DNA couldn't possibly tell you anything that you don't already know.'

Dryden gave a quiet laugh. 'His DNA? Alan you really are prehistoric, aren't you? You never saw the bigger picture; that was your problem. Too many years spent shut up in darkened rooms, no doubt. Shall I share a secret with you?' Dryden leaned in close to Alan's ear, and whispered, 'It's not his DNA I'm after.'

'Then why are you chasing him?' Alan's face hardened. 'What are you after?'

'Something altogether more interesting. Still, we have plenty of time to discuss the finer points. Right now there are a couple of things that I'd like you to do for me.' Dryden opened the paper file. 'First, I'd like you to sign this.'

'What is it?'

'Just a formality, concerning your arrest.' He placed a pen on the file. 'I'm sure you of all people understand the need for correct procedure.'

'I'm not going to sign anything.'

Dryden sighed. 'Oh, Alan, Alan. Of course you will. The question is whether you agree to do it willingly, or if I have to force you.' Dryden released the strap holding Alan's hand.

'Forge my signature if you want, but I'll never sign it. You can't force me to make what you're doing seem legal.'

'You of all people should know the legality of what we're doing here, or have you chosen to re-write that piece of history too?' Dryden slipped his hand into an outer pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, black device. It looked like the controller for a music system. 'And as to whether I can force you or not; yes I can.' He pressed the single button on the device.

Alan flinched away from the high-pitched sound which filled the room; his face contorting in pain. Unconsciously, he held his breath. The man in the maroon suit seemed oblivious to the noise.

'Sign the paper,' Dryden said, but his voice was distorted, metallic.

Alan fought against the command.

'Sign the paper.'

'No.' Alan forced the word out.

'Sign the paper.'

Dryden's voice felt like an insidious drip of water, forcing its way into the depths of Alan's mind. The professor's hand reached slowly out and grasped the pen. He screamed at it to stop moving, willed it to do as he commanded but it was as if the hand didn't belong to him. He spun the paper around and signed on the dotted line.

Dryden took his thumb off the button and the high-pitch sound ceased. Alan's shoulders relaxed, he dropped the pen onto the desk and gasped for air. A trickle of blood oozed from his nose.

'As you can see,' Dryden told him, slipping the device back into his pocket, 'technology has progressed in leaps and bounds over the last few years.' He inspected the paperwork on the desk and closed the file. 'Excellent. Now the next task I want you to do will be much easier.'

'What?'

Dryden gave a smile. 'Just a little experiment.'
CHAPTER 15

'So what do you think about the new you?' Pickford asked Daniel as they waited for Luca to fetch Daniel's new documents.

'I think I'm getting used to looking at someone new in the mirror every five minutes,' Daniel replied.

'You see, when you say stuff like that it just sets off my natural inquisitiveness.'

'I don't see why, I mean –'

'Hey, kid, just 'cos I'm nosey it don't mean that I have to know. To be honest I've often found that the less I do know, the better.'

'That's good, because there's nothing to tell.'

'Then we're all happy.'

Daniel glanced at his watch. 'Is this going to take long?'

Pickford gave a crooked smile. 'I pay him for muscle not speed,' he said. 'He'll be back in a minute. You got somewhere you need to be?'

'Not really,' Daniel replied trying to sound nonchalant. 'I'd just like to make a call, that's all.' His fingers brushed against the piece of paper with Eleanor's number on it in his pocket.

Luca entered the room, carrying a small cardboard box. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his breath came in deep, drawn-out lungful's.

'Speak of the devil,' Pickford muttered, patting the table between Daniel and himself. 'Put it down here.'

Luca put the box on the table and moved back around his employer's side.

'Did you try running again?' Pickford asked him.

Luca nodded. 'You said I should hurry.'

'Yeah, but I didn't want you to kill yourself, you big lug.' Pickford shook his head, disapprovingly. 'Go get some water or something.'

Luca nodded once more and ambled off.

Pickford watched him go then took the top of the box off and Daniel saw what had his money had bought.

'New passport in the name of Robert Swain with matching DNA card, lens case and laminator,' Pickford said, smiling. 'And a handy little bag to keep them in.'

Daniel reached inside the box and took them out. 'Thank you.'

'Hey, like I said before, kid; you've paid good money for this. I'm just a shop-keeper. Would you thank a grocer just 'cos he sold you a tomato?'

'I suppose not.' Daniel slipped the documents and equipment in the bag into his jacket. 'Seriously, though,' he said holding out a hand, 'thank you.'

The small man shook the hand. 'Any time, kid. Any time.'

Daniel smiled and turned to go.

'Hey, kid,' Pickford called as Daniel reached the doorway. 'You know where I am if you need anything else, right?'

He took another glance around the walls of the Aladdin's cave. 'Yeah,' he said with a smile. 'I'll know who to call.'

The ringing cell phone caused Eleanor's mother to frown. 'What have I told you about no cells at the table?'

She was serving soup from a porcelain tureen to Eleanor's younger brother and aunt.

'I know,' Eleanor said, 'I'm sorry, I forgot to switch it off.' She took the phone out of her pocket and looked at the caller ID screen. She smiled. 'I'm really sorry, mom, but can I take this? It's important.'

'Sure, why not? I mean we're only just about to have lunch; it's nothing important.'

'I'm sorry. I'll be real quick.'

Her mother pursed her lips. 'Alright, but I want you sitting back down before I finish serving. D'accord?'

As Eleanor pushed her chair back from the table her aunt muttered something in French. It didn't sound complimentary.

'I can understand what you're saying, you know?' Eleanor told her.

Her aunt tutted. The hair on her upper lip made it look like a puckered peach.

Eleanor moved into the next room. 'Hey, Daniel.'

'How did you know it was me?'

'No one else calls me from a withheld number.'

He laughed. 'Yeah, sorry about that. Is this a good time to call? I could always call back if it's not.'

'It's maybe not the best time,' Eleanor said glancing back towards the dining room. 'We're just sitting down to lunch and mom gets real funny about family meals, but it's okay I've got a minute.'

'That's great. Look, I was wondering if you'd like to meet up tomorrow for a coffee or something.'

Eleanor smiled. 'Are you asking me out on a date?'

'Well... If...you see... I –'

'It doesn't take much to turn you into a Stuttering Stanley, does it?' she laughed and absent-mindedly pulled the net curtain aside from the window overlooking the road. She paid no attention to the couple walking past the front yard, or the grey saloon parked two houses down with the non-descript man in the driver's seat. 'I'd love to meet you for a coffee,' Eleanor continued. 'Where do you have in mind?'

In the saloon William Cross held a thin device to his ear while he tapped away on a small keypad.

'I'm not sure,' Daniel's voice came to him from the earpiece. 'Somewhere in the city? Could I call you in the morning and let you know?'

'Okay mystery man,' Eleanor laughed. 'I'll be at the library early – I've got a ton of work to do – but I should be free any time after two.'

'Great. I'll call you in the morning then?'

'Okay. Look forward to it.'

Eleanor cancelled the call and returned to the dining room with a smile.

'Who was that?' her mother asked as she sat back down.

'No one,' she said. 'Just a friend.'

'Ellie's got a boyfriend, Ellie's got a boyfriend,' her younger brother sang.

'Be quiet, you little squirt,' she replied, a fake stern look on her face.

'Boyfriend or not,' her mother said with a hard edge to her voice and pointing her finger, 'no more calls at the table, okay?'

'Okay, mama.'

William Cross removed his earpiece, took out his phone and tapped the screen twice. 'Tiberius has made contact with the Turner girl. He's meeting her in the city tomorrow,' he said, and paused as he listened to the reply.

'Couldn't track him,' Cross said. 'Maybe the same thing that's blocking my tags is keeping him hidden.'

Cross listened to the response. 'I've said I don't know. Do you want me to pick him up when he meets the girl and ask him how he did it?' He paused again. 'I'm not getting angry, but there's no point asking me the same question all the time, is there? You of all people should know what he's capable of.'

The reply was brief.

'I don't care what you think. You do your job and I'll do mine. What's the professor had to say for himself?'

Another pause.

'Then maybe it wasn't such a good idea bringing him in?'

Cross smirked, knowing that the comment would provoke an angry response.

'Okay, okay,' he said. 'Call me if the old man says anything I should know. I'll contact you tomorrow with an update.'

A pang of nerves shot through Daniel as he opened the gym door to The Jade Tiger Dojo on Brooklyn's 61st Street. The place smelled of old wood and leather. In the room a class of thirty-eight students, all in ordered lines, were going through their warm-up exercises and only a few of the newer members looked up as the door creaked open. Daniel wore one of the Dojo's standard white uniforms and unconsciously tugged at his belt. The senior instructor, a slight man in his fifties, turned to see who'd opened the door.

'Can I help you?' the man asked.

Daniel stepped inside and let the door creak closed behind him. 'The lady on the desk said it'd be alright if I joined the class.'

The instructor beckoned one of the older students in the front row to take his place. 'Continue the warm-up will you,' he said before moving over to Daniel. 'You done much of this before?'

'Not really.' Daniel smiled.

'Not really, huh?'

'I... I've read a book.'

The instructor nodded. 'Okay, you see this is a mid- to high-level class.' He pushed open the door. 'We do beginner's classes on a Tuesday night. You can come back then.'

'No, sorry, what I meant was that I read a book... about your classes here. More of a pamphlet really, I suppose,' Daniel quickly covered. 'I've been taking lessons for a few years now.'

The instructor let the door swing closed. 'You on vacation?'

'That's right.'

'What grade are you?' He looked Daniel up and down.

'Grade?' Daniel glanced at the lines of students; most of them were wearing neatly tied black belts. 'Black.'

'Black?' The instructor folded his arms. 'You sure?'

Daniel nodded and tried to look as honest as possible. 'I didn't bring my kit because I wasn't sure I'd be able to get any classes in. The lady at the front said it'd be okay for me to borrow this suit.'

'Okay then,' the instructor said narrowing his eyes, 'if you think you're up to it. We're a full-contact Dojo here, you know?'

'Excellent.'

'What's your name, son?'

'Daniel.'

'Okay, Daniel, glad to have you. Take a space.'

Daniel moved around the side and joined the end of the line furthest away from the instructor and for the next half-an-hour he mimicked the warm-up routines. The actions weren't too different to those in the Bruce Lee book, and he soon found himself copying the katas with ease and precision.

When the instruction came to pair-off Daniel found himself with a man a few years older than him, but about twice as wide. Suddenly the image of Terry Llewellyn came to his mind. He smiled at his new partner, but only got a grunt in return.

Yep, he thought, Terry Llewellyn alright.

The order was for light sparring, but after Daniel's opponent kicked his legs from under him and delivered a thumping hand-chop to the stomach, he had his first taste of what full-contact actually meant.

As he paused to recover his breath Daniel closed his eyes and remembered what he'd read in Bruce Lee's book – a style without style, be like water. He got to his feet and took a guard stance. When his opponent's next attack came he deflected it with ease. His partner frowned and pressed forward once more but Daniel managed to block the man's kicks and punches. It was almost as if he knew where each intended attack was heading. The frustration on his opponent's face became clear to see.

Daniel lured him forward; twisting away only to kick the man behind his knee and scoring a hit between the man's shoulder blades. The Terry Llewellyn look-a-like's face hit the mat hard but Daniel was convinced that the redness of it, when the man stood back up, was down to embarrassment. Embarrassment and anger.

In the next attack the man lunged at him, almost yelling, in a flurry of kicks and punches. The sudden ferocity of the attack surprised him but none of his opponent's blows landed. The movements and techniques from the Bruce Lee book seemed to flow from Daniel's hands and feet, without him having to even think about them. His body twisted and spun but his balance remained perfect, which only served to infuriate his opponent even further.

The instructor watched him with interest.

After thirty seconds Daniel knew everything he needed to about his opponent: it was clear that he was fond of a triple punch/side kick combination, but which left him vulnerable each time. All Daniel had to do was wait for the next time he tried the move. When it came it was as if someone had slowed down time: Daniel countered the three punches and deflected the side kick with his left forearm then lunged forward with his right fist, snapping his arm at the last moment, and hitting the man mid-chest.

The Terry Llewellyn-clone flew back so hard he landed on the adjacent pair's mat. He curled up into a ball and clutched his chest with both hands, gasping for air. The entire Dojo stopped and turned.

Daniel gave an awkward smile to the instructor. 'Like I said; I've had lessons.'

After he'd showered and changed back into his proper clothes Daniel stood with the instructor by the Dojo's front desk, holding his folded suit.

'So how long you got left on your vacation?' the instructor asked.

'Not long,' Daniel replied.

'We'd love to have you back, anytime you want. What school did you say that went to for lessons?'

Daniel paused. 'It's the Llewellyn Dojo.'

'Well that's one hell of a school. I gotta say that I've rarely seen technique as good as yours.'

Daniel felt a blush creep up his cheeks. 'Thanks. And thanks for letting me borrow this.' He held out the suit.

'Hell no. Keep it. Maybe it'll persuade you to come back. A guy with your ability could go a long way.'
CHAPTER 16

William Cross had been a ghost so long he'd almost forgotten what it was to be like a normal person. He'd spent so much time over the years watching people – listening to private conversations and following those who had something to hide – whilst always remaining within the shadows and seldom venturing out into the light. But this was the life he chose. Or rather, this was the life that he'd somehow fallen into.

The standard career expectancy of a Special Forces operative was, to say the least, short. When circumstance and opportunity had handed him the chance to extend that career outside of Military control, he had barely hesitated before accepting. Over the years he'd discovered that working in the private sector was just as dangerous as being in the Armed Forces, if significantly better paid. The country home he shared with his wife was mortgage free and he'd put both his eldest sons through top-class University education.

His youngest son was just a handful of years older than the boy he was now tracking.

Cross had listened in to the call Daniel had made to Eleanor a little after eleven: he'd suggested that they meet at Franco's Diner on 2nd and East 46th at three o'clock. Apparently someone he'd met had recommended their Mochas, Daniel told her.

Cross was parked twenty metres away from the junction, on East 46th Street, facing the diner with the police-band radio playing quietly in the background. To any onlooker he was simply reading the newspaper, but he eyes were watching the street like a hawk's. He watched as Daniel walked to the diner, from the direction of the United Nations building, at a little before three and took a seat at one of the outdoor tables.

Cross checked his phone – the three-dimensional display of the immediate area showed him that there was still no signal from the tracking devices he'd planted on the boy. He placed a small directional microphone onto the dashboard of the car and angled it towards Daniel, listening to him order a white coffee. Cross tweaked the microphone sensors and phased out the background noise of the traffic; making Daniel's words clear and distinct. The camera mounted on the microphone fed Daniel's image to Cross's phone.

With each new encounter Cross's admiration for the boy grew; his hair was now a dark brown colour and much shorter than before, and his eyes were also brown. If Cross didn't know better he would've thought Tiberius had had military training. The boy appeared relaxed and only an expert would have been able to notice the stiffness in the teenager's shoulders, the sole indication that he was tense or nervous.

It was at this point that Cross noticed Eleanor's reflection in his wing mirror. She walked along the sidewalk towards the diner, and at once Cross knew what caused Daniel's anxiety. There was no doubt about it: the girl was beautiful. A smile creased his lips. Fleeting memories of being a teenager came back to him.

Eleanor approached the junction and smoothed down the front of her blouse as she passed Cross's car. Daniel spotted her and ordered a Mocha before she reached the table. She made her way across 2nd Avenue and Cross was sure that Daniel blushed as she gave the teenager a hug and a continental-style kiss on each cheek.

'You know, I really don't buy the whole "I'm not on the run" line now,' she said as they sat down. 'What's with the hair and eyes?'

'I just felt like a new look,' Daniel replied, running a hand through his short hair. 'Don't you like it?'

'I think it looks great, but...'

'But what?'

'But you've gotta be honest with me, Daniel. What's going on?'

Daniel opened his mouth but the waitress's arrival with Eleanor's Mocha made him stop until the girl had gone back into the diner.

'Okay. Honesty. Right.' Daniel took a deep breath. 'Can I trust you?'

Eleanor sat back in her chair and folded her arms. 'One of the things they taught us in the first semester at college was that if anyone asks someone else if they can be trusted, it usually means that the person asking the question is themselves untrustworthy. What do you say about that?'

'I...' Daniel leaned across the table to her. 'I don't know about everyone else, but maybe not everyone who asks that question is being—' he glanced quickly to either side '—chased by people who murdered their parents, followed them to another country and are trying to take them back to be experimented on.'

Eleanor paused. 'Wow. That's... Wow.' She took a sip of her drink.

'I'm not mental or anything,' Daniel said looking into her wide eyes. 'I'm not making it up; you wanted me to be honest so I have been. It's just a really long story and I want to tell you the truth. I'd love to be able to tell you the truth but it's dangerous for you just by being with me. The least you know the better.' He took another deep breath. 'They already know who you are.'

'What? What do you mean? Who are they?'

'The people who are after me, the people I'm running from. I wanted to meet you today to say that –'

Cross couldn't hear Daniel's next words as the police radio burst into life. He turned up the volume from the microphone but the radio interfered with its signal, leaving Daniel's words distorted and unintelligible. The woman's voice on the radio was saying that units were being dispatched to apprehend a car used in a bank robbery near Giuliani Central. The suspect's vehicle had crossed Madison Avenue and was speeding towards the United Nations building along East 46th Street.

Cross switched his attention to his rear view mirror – in the distance behind him he could see the flashing red and blue lights of police cars. The wail of sirens grew louder. The woman on the police dispatch claimed that shots had been fired from the fleeing vehicle, and that officers should consider the criminals hostile and extremely dangerous. In the mirror Cross could make out that the police chase was getting nearer, as other vehicles darted out of the way of the escaping felons.

A black-and-white police car drew up alongside the criminal's tan-coloured sedan and an officer fired shots at the wheels. One of the bullets scored a hit and the tyre exploded, sending the sedan careering across the road. It collided with the police car, sending it smashing into a trio of parked cars; the police vehicle somersaulting onto its roof. The driver of the sedan managed to gain some control over the car but, with sparks firing from the tireless wheel, it still swerved around the road like a pinball. And it was heading directly for the tables outside Franco's Diner on the corner of 2nd Avenue.

Cross focused on the two teenagers. He could no longer hear the words between Daniel and the girl, but they were now both standing – arguing, it appeared – with the boy holding onto her arm. They were oblivious to the chase bearing down on them.

Cross turned the key in the ignition and slammed the car into gear. If he was going to act then he only had seconds. The saloon's tyre's screeched as he spun the car across the road, and into the path of the tan sedan. The fleeing driver had no time to react as the grey saloon appeared out of nowhere and slammed into the sedan's front wing, sending both cars smashing into the corner opposite Franco's Diner, scattering pedestrians and shop-workers alike.

Eleanor screamed as the two cars disappeared in a shower of glass and brickwork. The sedan's wheels continued to spin even though it had been lifted off the ground by the building debris. Within moments the chasing police arrived to surround the scene, pistols aimed at the criminal's car and shouting at them to come out with their hands up. A pistol shot from inside the car was their reply. A crack from a police officer's gun pierced the noise, as the man took control of the situation. The other officers followed suit and the air was alive with gun fire.

With the argument momentarily forgotten Eleanor held tightly onto Daniel's arm, open-mouthed with shock.

Half of the grey saloon could be seen sticking out of the corner building and before the police could open the driver's door, a non-descript man fell out onto the rubble. Blood seeped from a cut on his forehead and his left leg was bent at an unhealthy angle.

Daniel's first reaction was to run over and help him but as the driver pushed his way clear of the car Daniel knew immediately who he was looking at. Despite the blood running down the man's face and the dust that covered him, he knew that this was the same person who he'd seen in the alley behind Pickford's building.

This was the man who worked for Gregory Dryden. This was the man who'd come to take him back.

Daniel froze, and a million questions ran through his mind. As he stood there trying to understand what had just happened, the man looked up. He stared across the junction towards the diner and directly into Daniel's eyes. From his reaction it was clear that the man knew that Daniel recognised him.

Daniel grabbed Eleanor's hand. 'Come on,' he said, 'we have to get out of here.'

'Are you serious?' she screamed. 'After what you've just told me? Are you mad? I'm not going anywhere with you.'

Daniel's voice became like granite. 'He's one of them,' he said pointing at Cross. 'Alright? I saw him two days ago. He followed me to Chinatown and now he's followed me here. He's come for me, Eleanor. They've threatened you and he's come to take me back. We have to go. Now!'

He pulled Eleanor's hand so hard that she stumbled into the table, sending their drinks crashing to the sidewalk. As Daniel dragged her away from the diner she cast one last glance back towards the accident. The driver from the grey saloon had been propped up against the car and was receiving attention from a pair of paramedics, but through the crush of people she managed to look into the man's eyes.

There was recognition in them. This man knew her. She gripped Daniel's hand tighter and kept pace with him as they ran north along 2nd Avenue.

Eleanor was gasping for breath by the time she and Daniel had turned left on to East 51st Street. The wails of police sirens were now a faint echo in the distance.

'I have to stop,' she panted. 'I have to stop.'

Daniel eased up and slowed to a walk. Eleanor let go of his hand and leaned with her back to a wall – her head low with her hands resting on her knees.

'We have to keep going,' Daniel said.

'I can't even breathe let alone run.' She took deep, shuddering breaths while Daniel paced anxiously around her. He moved to the corner and stared back down 2nd Avenue. He wasn't sure what he was looking for but it made him feel better.

'I don't think we're being followed,' he said after moving back to her. 'Are you alright?'

'Alright? You're joking, yeah? You tell me all that ridiculous stuff and at first I'm thinking that you're just really bad at saying that you don't like me but... but then I saw that man's eyes. I've never seen him before, Daniel, but he knew me. I could see it in his eyes: he knew me!'

'I know, and I'm sorry.'

'How could he know me? How? What have you got me mixed up in?'

'I've already told you.'

'But that's ridiculous. That sort of thing just doesn't happen. And why aren't you even sweating? I'm dying here and you're not even out of breath.'

'I... I do a lot of running. Well I used to, back home.'

He returned to the corner, looked along the route they'd come and scanned the road. 'We might be okay for a while,' he said as he re-joined her. 'When I saw that man the other day he was by himself and it doesn't look as if there's anyone with him now. I've told you the truth, Ellie. I wish to God that it was all made up but it's not. I'm sorry that... I'm sorry that I've gotten you involved.'

'So what happens now?'

'That's a good question, and one I've been asking myself for the last week.' He looked up; a few doors away he saw the Antoine Bakery and Deli. 'How about I get you another Mocha and we talk about it? Yeah? I'm sure this'll all be alright.'

Eleanor pushed herself away from the wall and took a deep breath. 'It'll have to be one hell of a good Mocha to make this alright.'

Daniel picked up her bag and put his hand on her shoulder. 'Whatever I have to do to make this right,' he told her, 'I will. I promise you.'

Daniel chose a table against the far wall of the deli that was close to the rear exit and also allowed him a clear view of the street. There were about twenty or so other people in the room, along with two waitresses. A large screen behind the serving counter played a news channel; a ticker-tape feed that ran across the bottom of the screen was already detailing what had happened a few blocks away. Daniel and Eleanor sat with their drinks in silence for a few moments as Eleanor got her breath back.

'So who is this Dryden guy?'

'I'm not really sure. He used to be a politician but I'm not sure what he is now.'

'And he threatened me?'

'Indirectly.' Daniel took a sip of his drink. 'He knew I was in New York. I'm not sure how but he knew. That day in the library – when we first met – and my screen died...'

'Yeah?'

'That was him.'

Eleanor frowned as she tried to understand what Daniel meant. 'How do you mean?'

'Somehow he knew that I'd started looking for him. Thinking about it now I suppose that it's not that difficult, but he was able to shut down that specific screen. He must have used all the cameras over here to follow me. Then he sent that man. The only thing he hasn't been able to track was the new phone I got.'

'Why not?'

Daniel glanced to either side. 'I got it from... well, someone on the black market.' He slipped the phone from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. 'Ask no questions, you get told no lies; that sort of thing.'

'It just looks like a normal cell.'

'I think that's the point. Anyway, the man who I got it off included a piece of software which makes it impossible for the signal to be tracked. It creates a dampening field or something. That's why it's a withheld number, I guess; nothing to trace. I used it to do a search on Dryden a couple of nights ago after I called you and even though he knew I was looking at him he couldn't do anything about it. Then I spoke to him.'

'You spoke with him?'

'Yeah. He wanted me to give myself up, to go back home and let them do whatever it is they want to do to me. He said that he wasn't the bad guy but I know it was him who ordered my parents killed.'

Eleanor shook her head. 'Daniel, I'm... I'm so sorry.'

'He knew about you, as well. He didn't say your name but he knew about you. He said that if I didn't give myself up then he'd have to come and ask you about what you knew.'

'But I don't know anything. I mean, I didn't until a few minutes ago.'

'That's what I told him but he didn't care. I thought he might've been bluffing, maybe he'd just seen you in the library from the security cameras but after what's just happened I have to believe he's serious.' Daniel glanced over his shoulder and noticed the sign for the toilets. 'I've just got to use the gents. I won't be a minute. You'll still be here when I get back? Won't you?'

'Who knows? I might just take my chance and run.'

Daniel's eye went wide. Eleanor smiled and her dimples returned. 'Go,' she said, 'use the restroom. I'll still be here. I haven't finished my Mocha, and you know how much they mean to me.'

Daniel smiled back as he headed towards the toilets.

William Cross had been injured in the line of duty many times before, and a broken leg – although painful – was not the worst he had suffered.

The paramedics gave him a pain-killing shot and isolated his leg in an inflatable gel-splint. They treated his head wound with a white powder which stemmed the flow of blood within seconds, and covered the cut with a large adhesive pad. They loaded him into the back of an ambulance and as the vehicle turned left onto the East River Drive – en route to Cornell Medical Center – his phone bleeped; a specific bleep which meant only one thing: his tracking sensors had re-acquired Tiberius.

Cross fumbled to get the phone out of his jacket pocket.

'Hey, buddy,' the paramedic sitting across from him said, 'you can't make any calls from here. It screws up the equipment. We'll be at Cornell in a few minutes and you can make a call after they've seen to you.'

'I'm not making any calls,' Cross muttered, tapping the screen and loading the tracking programme.

'Hey, I'm serious,' the paramedic repeated. 'No calls.'

He went to grab the phone but Cross caught hold of the paramedic's hand and pinched the nerve cluster between the thumb and index finger. The paramedic squealed as the nerves running along his arm set afire, paralysing him.

'Jesus, man. What are you doing?'

Three red dots appeared on Cross's screen. With his free hand he zeroed in on the signals in the three-dimensional display and isolated the address. He frowned at the screen. What could have caused the tracking sensors to come back on-line?

'He never found them,' Cross muttered in realisation. 'They were just being masked.'

'Okay, buddy. Just let go of my hand, will you?' the paramedic begged. 'Jesus, man. You're killing me!'

'Stop the ambulance,' Cross ordered.

'What?'

'You heard me. Pull over now.'

'We're in the middle of East River Drive.'

Cross let go of the man's hand and pulled a pistol from under the folds of his trench coat. 'Pull this thing over!'

Daniel gave a relieved sigh when he found Eleanor still at the table when he got back from the toilets.

'I called my mom,' she said pushing his phone across the table, 'to see if she was okay.'

'Is she?' He sat back down.

'Yeah, she's fine.'

'Did you... did you tell her anything?'

'Oh yeah, sure I did. "Hi mom, I just wanted to let you know that some international bad guys are coming to get us", or words to that effect. As if she's not stressed out enough as it is. My aunt's been stopping with us for the last few weeks.'

'Look, Ellie, you need to –' he stopped and stared at something high over her shoulder.

'I need to what? What is it?' She turned to see what he was looking at. 'What's wrong?'

On the TV screen behind the counter the news channel was showing an old man being bundled through a crowd of angry people. The flash of cameras lit up his face. The ticker tape information running across the bottom of the screen read: Esteemed English professor arrested for double homicide, kidnap and child-molestation.

Daniel stood up from the table and stepped towards the counter. 'Excuse me,' Daniel called to the woman. 'Excuse me, could you please turn that up?'

'Sure.' She picked up a remote and the newsreader's voice boomed out of the speakers.

'Sources from within London's Metropolitan Police,' the female newsreader said, 'have confirmed that Alan Cedric Cuthberts, a sixty-three year old bachelor and former Vaughn Scholar professor, has been arrested following the murders of Joshua and Elizabeth Henstock in a quiet English suburb, less than a week ago. Professor Cuthberts is also being questioned over the kidnap of sixteen year old Daniel Henstock—' a class photo of Daniel appeared on the screen '—as well as other serious sexual offences with minors.'

'That's the professor,' Daniel muttered.

Eleanor stood at his shoulder. 'Is that you they're talking about?'

'Detective Chief Inspector Brian Reynolds of Scotland Yard,' the newsreader continued, 'gave this statement.'

The image on the screen changed to show DCI Reynolds in front of Scotland Yard headquarters. 'I can confirm that Alan Cuthberts was apprehended this morning whilst trying to flee to the Continent. He's being held at a secure location and has been charged with multiple accounts of murder as well as kidnap. We also have cause to believe that he was the mastermind behind a Europe-wide child-smuggling syndicate which we've been investigating for several years now.'

The image returned back to the female news reader. 'We'll bring you more news on this later. Now over to Fiona, and the weather.'

'Do you know that man?' Eleanor asked.

'That's the professor,' Daniel repeated, in a daze. 'He saved me... the night my parents were killed. He gave me the passports and DNA cards to get out of England. He thought something like this might happen, well maybe not quite this but something bad. He's set him up to take the blame for what happened.'

'Who's set him up?'

Daniel picked his phone from off the table and tapped the screen. 'Dryden.'

The call rang twice. 'Yes?'

'I've just seen the news,' Daniel said.

The thin voice paused before replying. 'Have you now?'

'Do you think this'll change anything?'

'I have no idea what you mean, Daniel.'

'I told you to leave me alone, Mr Dryden, and I meant it. But I suppose that was too complicated for you. Do you think arresting the professor will make any difference?'

'You tell me.'

'Am I speaking a foreign language? I told you to leave me alone.'

'Daniel, you're the one who's calling me.'

'I've just left your man in the trench coat with a badly broken leg, by the way. You should've stopped him following me when you had the chance, now it's too late. I've done it for you.'

'I don't have anyone following you.'

'Do you think this is a game?'

'Daniel, Daniel. It's very simple, really. Come back to England so we can sit down and talk about it.'

The muscles in Daniel's jaw tightened. 'I'm coming back alright,' he said. 'And you'll be sorry.'

'I've told you before; threats are only real if you have something of value to threaten with. You have nothing, therefore your threats are empty. I'm not scared of you, Daniel.'

'Then you should be.'

Daniel ended the call. 'Come on,' he said to Eleanor. 'We have to go.'

'You're going back to England?' she asked. 'You're going to go back to that?'

'They have the professor; I have to go back. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him. He rescued me, now I have to rescue him.'

'But if what you say is real then they'll kill you.'

'They'll have to catch me first.'

He picked up her cell phone and activated its compatibility app then opened the same on his own phone. 'I'm synching your phone to mine, just in case you need to call me.' He handed it back and looked her in the eye. 'You're the only person that'll be able to do that, I hope you know what that means. But now,' he put his hand on her arm and pulled her towards the door, 'you have to go home. Don't worry, it'll be alright.'

'Alright? How?'

'If I go back then they'll have no need to be bothered with you. Going back is the only way that I can make sure that you and the professor will be safe.'

'That's madness,' she said, tears forming in her eyes. 'Madness.'

'Look,' he said, a little louder than he intended, grabbing her arms. Some of the other deli customers glanced over at them. 'Look,' he said quieter, 'I'm not going to let them do this to the professor and I'm not going to let them consider you a target.'

'But it's bound to be a trap.'

'That's exactly why they won't catch me.'

Eleanor screwed up her eyes and shook her head. 'That doesn't make any sense.'

He held her face in his hands and kissed her, surprising himself with his passion. 'Right now all you need to understand is that you'll be safe.'

He picked up her bag, ushered her out of the deli and onto the sidewalk. He held up his hand and signalled for a taxi to pull over.

'Go home,' he told her as the yellow cab came to a stop.

'But –'

'Ellie, just go home.' He opened the taxi door and bundled her onto the seats. 'I'll call you if I can.'

He kissed her again then slammed the door closed. He tapped on the driver's window and held out a five-hundred dollar bill. The driver wound down the window and took the money.

'See she gets home,' he told the man. 'Safe and quick.'

'Will do, buddy.'

The taxi pulled away from the curb with Eleanor looking back through the rear window; tears streaming down her face.

Daniel took a deep breath. 'I hope to God you know what you're doing,' he muttered to himself.

He took out his phone, dialled a different number and hailed another taxi as he waited. It took nearly a minute before it was answered.

'Yeah?'

'Pickford?' Daniel said as the taxi pulled up. 'It's Daniel. I'm coming over. There are some things I need.'
CHAPTER 17

Two things had happened by the time the cab containing William Cross pulled up outside the Antoine Bakery and Deli: the pain-killing injection the paramedics had given him had begun to wear off, and the lack of red dots on his phone's display told him that Daniel and Eleanor had long since gone.

'Wait here,' Cross told the driver. 'I won't be a minute.'

Cross shuffled along the seat and opened the door. He gripped onto it and stepped onto the sidewalk, dragging his broken leg out behind him. He let out a grunt as the gel-splint touched the paving slabs.

'For what it's worth,' the driver muttered, leaning out of the window, 'it looks as if you need a doc more than you need a cappuccino.'

Cross slammed the door closed. 'Just wait here.'

He half-limped, half-hopped into the deli and a quick scan confirmed that Daniel and the girl were no longer there. He made his way over to a high table by the front window, rested on the back on a tall chair and called one of the waitresses over. His broken leg had started to bleed and it left small trails of blood across the tiled floor.

'Hi, my name's Anne,' the waitress began, a smile on her face, 'what can I—' her face creased when she saw Cross's broken leg, the adhesive pad on his head and his blood-stained shirt '—get for you? Oh my God, are you alright?'

'I'm fine,' Cross replied, his accent now American. Sweat glistened off his brow and he winced every time the inflated splint touched the floor. He took out a wallet, flipped it open and flashed a badge with the words Homeland Security etched onto it. 'But I need your help. A little while ago there were two kids in here – a guy; short brown hair, and a girl; mixed-race – did you see them?'

'Yeah,' Anne answered, 'about fifteen, twenty minutes ago, I guess.'

'Where'd they go, did you see?'

'No. They just left and each got into a cab, I think.'

'They got different cabs? You sure?'

'Yeah. Pretty sure.'

'Did you hear where they went?'

'No. They were out on the street. Look, do you wanna sit down?'

Cross shook his head. 'No.'

'They did seem pretty upset at the news though,' Anne continued.

'The news? What about the news?'

'On the TV. There was something on about an old guy, a Brit I think, who'd been arrested for killin' someone or something. I wasn't really listening. The guy, the young guy I mean, seemed to be real upset by it. I think he made a call and then they left. It looked as if they'd had an argument or something 'cos the girl was crying when she got in the cab.'

Cross eased himself away from the chair and limped back outside.

'Do you want me to call 911 for you?' Anne asked as Cross made his way through the door.

'No,' he replied. 'No, that's okay. My next stop's gonna be the hospital.'

He shuffled over to the cab and opened the passenger door, easing himself back onto the seat. 'Cornell Medical Center,' he told the driver. 'As fast as you like.'

The driver pulled away from the curb and merged in with the traffic. Cross tapped at his phone again. 'It's me,' he said when the call was answered. 'There's been a development.'

Daniel sat at a terminal in Pickford's Aladdin's cave and studied the series of building schematics displayed on the screen. Pickford sat on his high stool close by, tapping away at his keyboard with his one good hand.

'What's so important about this Brinkley House anyways?' Pickford asked.

'I thought that you didn't like asking questions?' Daniel replied.

'That must be my slightly less handsome twin brother you're thinking of. Right, it's loaded.' He tapped at the keyboard once more and a holographic, three-dimensional image of Brinkley House rose out of the perspex table. 'I've synched it with your cell.'

The top two floors were opaque.

'What's the problem?' Daniel asked. 'Why haven't those floors loaded properly?'

Pickford tapped away at the keyboard again. 'Shielded somehow. I guess they don't want people knowing what's on the upper two levels. What's the building plan say?'

Daniel sifted through the documents on his screen. 'They stop at twenty-three, but this lift shaft—' he dipped his finger into the hologram '—sorry; this elevator shaft, continues going up.'

'Then that's where you'll find the guy you're after. The boss always likes to go high. It's a status thing.'

Daniel turned to look at him. 'So why are you stuck in a basement?'

'Do I look like the kinda guy who's comfortable with heights?'

Daniel smiled as he turned back to the hologram. 'The ground floor looks to be pretty well guarded; only one way in and through an E-M machine, no direct sewer access, no... anything access. It's the tallest building for a quarter mile radius so no getting onto it from anywhere close.'

'If only banks were this secure, huh?'

Luca laughed on cue.

'An army couldn't take this place,' Pickford told Daniel. 'I don't know what you've got going on in that nut of yours but if you're thinking what I think you're thinking, then it's gonna be suicide.'

'Thanks for having a little faith.'

'Hey, kid, if you go and get yourself killed then I've lost a good customer. I'm just worried about the family business.'

Daniel gave a brief laugh. 'Gee, thanks.'

'You see, you're talking like a native already.' Pickford shifted on his stool. 'Look, kid; I'm serious. Whoever runs a building like this is playing by their own rules and I'm guessing that whatever you've got planned is gonna piss them off.'

'Yes,' Daniel said under his breath. 'It will.'

'So what I'm saying is that maybe you shouldn't do whatever you're gonna to do by yourself.'

Daniel frowned. 'I couldn't ask you to help. Besides...'

'Oh, yeah, sure,' Pickford laughed, 'like I'd be any good.'

'Then who –' Daniel turned to look at Luca.

'And don't go getting no ideas about him, neither,' Pickford said.

'What are you suggesting?'

'Just that I'll keep tabs on you, you know, if you want me to.'

'How?'

'If you keep the mobile with you; I'll know where you are.'

'You said the phone couldn't be tracked.'

Pickford gave him a crooked smile. 'I had the software written, remember? And any good software has a back door, right? Only one person knows how to track the un-trackable, and you're lookin' at him.'

'You're a remarkable man, Pickford.'

'That's what I kept tellin' my ex but she never believe me.'

'What good would it be just you knowing where I am?'

'Give me your cell,' Pickford asked holding out his good hand.

Daniel passed it to him. Pickford opened it up and took out the SIM card. 'One of the things I can do is link your location to the cell's. It'll act as its own GPS but tagged only to you. We put a drop of your blood through one of my gizmos in the back room and link it to the cell's SIM. It'll show where you are and, more importantly, how you are as long as you stay close to it.'

'How close?'

'Maybe a quarter mile. Give or take.'

'But you still wouldn't be able to do anything.'

'Being invisible is one thing, kid, but never underestimate the power of someone knowing where you are or how you are. It just depends on who that person is.' Pickford shuffled again on his stool. 'You want me to call anyone? You know, should the worse happen?'

Daniel's head filled with an image of Eleanor in the back seat of the cab leaving the deli, with tears streaming down her cheeks. 'No,' he said. 'No, it's probably best not to.'

'Up to you.' He turned to Luca. 'Go get the medi-kit, will ya?'

'Sure thing, boss.'

'If the worse does happen,' Daniel began after Luca had left, 'then there is something I'd like you to do.'

'Yeah?'

'If I can't stop the man who runs this place,' Daniel said pointing at the hologram of Brinkley House, 'then I want you to do it for me. And I can pay. The rest of my money is in a deposit box at First Union. The number is –'

'Look, kid,' Pickford interrupted. 'I'm a great believer in the power of positive thought. Geez, look at me; where d'you think I'd be, if I wasn't? If you start thinking that you're gonna fail then somehow you'll find a way. Guaranteed. Besides, if you really wanna give me some more cash then you could always tip me when you get back.'

'How about I give you something now?' Daniel wrote down a series of items on a piece of paper and slid it across the table to Pickford. 'I'm hoping that you've got all of these in stock.'

Pickford nodded slowly as he started to read the list. 'Damn, kid. You're pretty serious about this, huh?'

'They're only things I need to get it done.'

Pickford held the paper up. 'When you ask for crazy things like this,' he tapped at the second item on the list, 'what do you think it says about you?'

'That I'm determined?'

'Nah. That's not it. Crazy is as crazy does.' The next item on the list made Pickford whistle. 'Where did you ever hear about A.I. hack programmes?'

'I've done a lot of reading lately,' Daniel smiled. 'Can you load it onto the phone?'

Pickford returned Daniel's smile. 'You come across as such a smart kid but then you ruin it by askin' stupid questions like that.'

'So that was a "yes" then, right?'

'I've told you: I can do anything, I can get anything. I got all of this stuff. I've even got a nice little Glock out back, if you're interested. It's beautiful. Porcelain and polymer; you could get it through customs no problem.'

Daniel gave a brief laugh. 'Thanks, but no. I wouldn't know what to do with it.' He shook his head. 'No guns.'

'Those guys are gonna have them.' Pickford nodded at the hologram of Brinkley House. 'Guaranteed.'

'That's what makes me not one of them.'

The polymer cast encased Cross's left leg from thigh to ankle and the large dressing on his head had been replaced with a small adhesive pad. By the time he wheeled himself out through the front entrance of the Cornell Medical Center into the morning light, the colourful bruises on his face made it look as if he'd gone ten rounds with the World Heavyweight Champion.

The blood from his head wound had stained his shirt a coppery-brown colour.

'You really ought to stay another night, Mr Peterson,' the nurse who followed him out begged. She carried a pair of padded crutches. 'You're in no fit state to be out of hospital.'

'You've had me for a day,' Cross replied. A trio of Cabs were parked off to one side and he waved at the nearest one. 'I'll be fine.'

'No you won't,' the nurse continued. 'You have concussion. You also have a hair-line fracture of your left cheekbone. You're in no fit state –'

'I'll be fine,' he repeated and tapped at his coat pocket. Pills rattled in a container. 'These'll do the job. Besides, what are you going to do? Put my head in a cast?'

The cab pulled up in front of Cross. The driver got out and opened the rear door.

'Mr Peterson,' the nurse said in a sterner voice. 'We cannot be held responsible for you should you suffer a relapse.'

'Did you hear that?' Cross asked the driver. 'That's them telling me that I can't sue if I die.'

The driver smiled and helped Cross from the wheelchair into the cab. The nurse handed the driver the crutches with a frown, and without another word spun on her heel and walked back into the hospital.

'Looks like you've made a friend,' the cab driver said as he passed the crutches to Cross.

'What can I say; it's a complicated relationship.' He opened the bottle of pills and tipped several into his mouth.

The driver eased the door closed and re-took his place behind the wheel. 'Where to, buddy?'

Cross tapped at his phone and when he was sure the information it was giving him was accurate said, 'Bensonhurst. Twenty-two seventeen, 79th Street.'

'No problem.'

'And I'll give you an extra hundred bucks if you keep the ride smooth.'

'Yes, sir. It'll be like floating on air.'

The First Class flight attendant made her last pass along the aisle before the Captain was due to announce their final approach into London, and offered Champagne to the seven people sitting in the plush surroundings. Only the dark-haired young man with the first bloom of a moustache declined the offer.

Daniel gazed through the window of the British United flight and thought about all that had happened in the short time since he last flew across the Atlantic; so short a time, yet his world had changed beyond measure. On his lap lay a book which he'd printed out an hour before the flight left America – Pressure Points and How to Use Them. Customs at JFK had barely glanced at his boarding slip – not even questioning that he now sported a moustache – and he expected nothing less when he arrived at Heathrow.

First Class passengers, it seemed, were not treated the same as regular travellers; a privilege was extended to them that raised them above the masses and Customs treated them as some sort of royalty.

He was delayed for no more than twenty seconds at Heathrow while his DNA card was passed through a reader. Ten minutes after leaving the plane he was sitting in the cab he'd booked, heading east on the M4 en route to a London hotel. He eased the moustache away from his lip and scratched at where it had been.

The sun was breaking free of the horizon; a new dawn, a new day. Perhaps it was going to be another new start?

Cross was as good as his word and passed over a number of fifty-dollar bills when the driver eased the cab up outside the house in Bensonhurst. 'Wait for me,' he said. 'I doubt if this'll take long.'

'Sure thing. You want me to get the door?'

'No, no. I've got it.' Cross pushed the cab door open, maneuvered himself onto the pavement and hobbled up to the front door of twenty-two seventeen. He leaned against the mesh frame covering the door and rang the bell. Sweat glistened on his brow and he tipped another couple of tablets into his mouth.

When Eleanor's mother saw the injured and bloodied man standing on front of her porch her eyes widened. 'Yes? Can I help you?'

Cross showed her the same badge he displayed in the deli. 'Sorry to bother you, ma'am,' he said, 'but I was wondering if whether your daughter was at home.'

'Eleanor? Yes she is. Why, what's wrong?'

'There's nothing to be concerned about. I just need to ask her a few questions about an incident that occurred yesterday.'

'An incident? You mean the car crash she saw?'

Cross gave a rueful smile. 'That's the one. May I come in?'

'Yes, yes of course.' She fumbled with the door as Cross hobbled into the house. 'Please, go straight on through. Eleanor's upstairs.'

'If it's at all possible,' Cross said, 'I'd like to talk with her alone.'

'I see. You'd better use the front parlour then. Would you like some tea?'

'No thank you, ma'am. I just need to speak with your daughter.'

'Of course. Well, I'll fetch Eleanor for you then.'

'Thank you.'

Cross made his way into the room which over-looked the road and stood to one side of the door, in the corner, so that Eleanor wouldn't see him the moment she came into the room. He closed the door.

Muted conversation in French drifted down through the house: Eleanor was questioning her mother on who the visitor was. When her mother mentioned the car crash, the emotion behind Eleanor's words changed. From her tone Cross could tell she was already suspicious. She told her mother to get everyone into the back room.

A few moments later the door to the room opened and Eleanor stepped in. Cross slammed the door shut behind her and maneuvered himself in front of it. Eleanor screamed. She swung a punch at Cross which he half-deflected with a crutch.

She kicked hard against the plaster on his leg. Cross grunted in pain and pushed her away into the room, his crutch falling to the carpet.

'I'm not here to hurt you,' he said holding out a hand. 'Really.'

'You were the one in the car,' she stated. 'You're the one who's trying to kill Daniel.'

'Don't be ridiculous.' Sweat dripped off Cross's brow. 'If I was trying to kill him then why did I crash my car trying to protect you?'

It took Eleanor a moment to react. 'What?'

'The other car would've smashed into both of you at the diner; you wouldn't have stood a chance. I was trying to protect him yesterday just as I'm trying to do now—'

'I don't believe you.'

'—But to do that right I'm going to need your help.'

'I don't believe you,' Eleanor repeated, and lashed out at him again. 'You're just trying to trick me.'

Cross deflected her hand once more. 'I am not here to hurt you,' he told her, 'but if you kick my leg again I might just forget my orders.'

He pushed her back into the room then fumbled with the bottle of pain-killers in his pocket. He prised off the lid and tipped three of the yellow pills into his mouth, crunching them with his teeth. He grimaced. 'God, these taste bad.'

'Daniel said that you'd threatened to hurt me if he didn't do what you wanted.'

'Not me, but that sounds like the sort of thing a man named Gregory Dryden would do.'

Eleanor's eyes widened.

'I see that he's told you about him,' Cross panted. 'That's good because it'll make this easier. My name is William Cross,' he told her. 'It may not mean much to you but there's only a handful of people in the world who know my real name, and now you're one of them.'

'You're right,' she replied, 'it doesn't mean anything to me.'

'Eleanor,' Cross sighed. 'I need to know where Daniel is.'

'I've no idea where he is. And even if I did, why should I tell you?'

'Because if you don't Dryden will kill him, if he's lucky. Eleanor! Listen to me; I need to know where Daniel is.'

'I've told you; I don't know!'

'Then what did you talk about at the deli before you got into separate cabs?'

Eleanor backed away a few more steps. 'How do you know about the deli?'

Cross took a breath. 'A few days ago I planted some tracking devices on Daniel without him knowing,' he told her. 'They were working fine until something masked their signal. When you were at the deli they came back online for a couple of minutes but then they stopped again. I have to know what happened there.'

'Nothing happened.'

'Nothing? At all?'

'No. I was... I was shook up about what had happened at the diner. I made Daniel tell me what was going on. He said that this man Dryden was after him. Daniel said that when he'd started trying to find out who he was, Dryden knew about it and shut down the terminals he'd been using.'

'And then what?'

'He said that Dryden told him that he'd get me if Daniel didn't give himself up. I was worried for mom so when Daniel went to the restroom I called home to make sure she was okay.'

'No,' Cross said, shaking his head, 'you didn't.'

'Yes, I did.'

'I would've known if you'd made any calls. I lost track of Daniel at the weekend so I followed you. I saw you two together at the library and knew that he'd contact you. I tapped into your phone; your cell. You didn't make any calls from the deli.'

'You bugged my cell?'

'Bugging your phone saved your life, young lady! Hold on,' Cross muttered. 'Wait a minute. Whose phone did you use in the deli?'

'Daniel's; when he went to the restroom.'

Cross closed his eyes as the realisation hit him. 'Idiot,' he muttered, more to himself than to Eleanor. 'Where did he get his phone from?'

'Some back-street dealer, I think.'

Cross nodded. 'In Chinatown?'

'I... I think so.'

'Okay, so you made the call to your mom then what?'

'I... nothing. We talked about what had happened and...'

'And what?'

'And then Daniel saw a report on the news.'

'Professor Cuthberts' getting arrested.'

Eleanor's eyes widened a fraction more. 'Yes.'

'Then what?'

'Daniel said that Dryden had arrested the old man to make him go back to England. So Daniel called him.'

'Called who?'

'Dryden.'

'Nobody can just call him, unless...' Cross nodded again as the logic made sense. 'Daniel used his own cell, right?'

'Yeah.'

'Do you know what was said?'

Eleanor sat down on a chair; her lips pursed and a frown creasing her brow.

'Eleanor, this is important. What did they talk about? You have to trust me. I'm trying to help.'

'Daniel said that he was going back and that Dryden would be sorry,' she began to cry. 'He said that if he went to England then they'd have no need to come after me.'

'Idiot!' Cross took out his phone and tapped the screen. The call rang and rang. 'Come on, come on.' Cross muttered. Eventually his call was answered. 'It's me. Tiberius is heading home.' The reply was brief. 'No, he may already be there. You'll have to watch him from now on. I'll send you the frequency the tracking beacons are set to.'

Cross paused as he listened to the answer. 'I can't. There are some loose ends over here. I'm going to stay and see if they tie up. Call me when you have anything.'

Cross ended the call.

'So, William Cross, if you don't work for Dryden who do you work for?' Eleanor asked.

Cross slipped the phone back into his jacket. 'Someone else,' he said. He reached down and picked up his crutch. 'It's best you don't know.'

He turned to the door, struggled with the handle but eventually pulled it open.

'Wait a minute,' Eleanor said getting to her feet. 'That's it?'

'That's it.' Cross hobbled out into the hallway.

'So now what?' Eleanor said following him out.

'Nothing. Forget any of this ever happened. Carry on as you normally would.'

'Carry on as normal? Are you mad? What about Daniel?'

Cross opened the front door and eased his way out onto the porch. He turned to her, his face showing no emotion. 'He'll live or he won't. But you have my word that we'll do all we can to make sure this has a happy ending.' He turned back around and made his way towards the waiting cab.

'We?' Eleanor asked, following him. 'Who exactly are "we"?'

The driver got out of the cab and opened the rear door for Cross to get in.

'Who do you work for? Cross!'

Eleanor held Cross's eyes as the cab pulled away from the curb. She pulled out her phone and dialled Daniel's number.
CHAPTER 18

It had only been a week since he'd last stood at the gates to Primrose Hill Academy but Daniel felt like a trespasser. He'd spent five years walking through those large blue barriers and now they seemed almost alien to him. But the fact of the matter was; it wasn't the gates that were alien – it was him.

He wore a large black, back-pack over his shoulders and had a canvas satchel slung diagonally beneath it. As the first of the students began to make their way into the school Daniel moved away from the gates and stood off to one side. He shrugged off the back-pack and checked the time; if his friend still stuck to his usual routine then he'd be arriving any minute. He wanted to see Oliver but would rather not face the questions of others. And there would be questions. The online news article he'd read last night was typical of a dozen journalist's speculation about what had happened in the middle of that night at number nine Palmer Court a week ago – a husband and wife were dead; each shot through the head by the same gun, and their child missing. Still, the police had arrested a man and the media had its target: Alan Cuthberts. If Daniel's plan worked then by tomorrow they would both be free men.

A gust of wind blew into him. He turned the collar of his thick coat up onto his neck and dug his hands back into the pockets – even for May this was a cold day. The forecast had predicted rain later on but for now at least the weather held.

Daniel waited for another ten minutes before he caught sight of a red-faced boy finishing off the remains of a breakfast tortilla. He waited until Oliver had gone passed him, and noticed his friend's shirt hanging loose from the back of his trousers.

'Tuck your shirt in boy,' Daniel tried to make his voice seem older, deeper. 'It looks like you've just gotten out of bed.'

'Sorry, sir, I—' Oliver automatically reached for the end of his shirt and turned around '—Daniel! What? What're you doing here? What happened to you?'

Daniel grabbed Oliver's elbow and pulled him off the road back to where he had been waiting. 'Keep your voice down.'

'We all thought you were dead!'

'As you can see; I'm not.'

'What happened to you? What have you done to your hair?'

'It's a long story, and I know that you want to know but I can't tell you.'

'But your mum and dad...'

'I know. I know.'

Oliver's round eyes glistened, making Daniel think his friend was about to cry.

'Okay, look.' Daniel continued. 'A man broke into our house. He... he killed mum and dad and he would've killed me if someone else hadn't have turned up and stopped him.'

'But they've arrested him. I saw it on the news.'

'They've got the wrong man. He's the one who saved me.' Oliver tried to interrupt him. 'It doesn't matter why, Oli, and it really is for the best that you don't know. I'm not dead but I did have to get away. It's complicated, I know. The truth is, is that I can't come back. I just wanted to see you and... I don't know, to say goodbye, I guess.'

Oliver's frown deepened. 'You're right; I don't understand. But if you saw the man who did kill your mum and dad then you have to go to the police. You have to.'

'The man who killed them is dead. Don't ask – it's too long a story. The man they've got is a scapegoat. The police would never believe me, anyway. Besides, I'm not even sure if I could trust them.'

'Trust who? The police? Why couldn't you trust them? Dan, everyone thinks you're dead. You have to tell them the truth.'

'No, I can't. And neither can you. Trust me. You can't tell anyone that you've seen me, ever. No one, do you understand? It's for your own good.'

'No, I don't understand.'

Daniel gripped his friend on either arm. 'Oli, this is serious. You can never tell anyone you've seen me – not even your parents, okay? If you do you could just make it dangerous for yourselves.'

'Dangerous?' Oliver couldn't hide his confusion.

'This was a mistake,' Daniel muttered. 'I'm sorry, I should never've come. Please, Oli, just do me a favour and not tell anyone. Promise me?'

'Okay, okay, I promise. I don't understand why not, but alright.'

'I'd better go. I just wanted to let you know I was alright. You were my only friend here.' He slung the back-pack once more around his shoulders.

'Where are you going to go?'

'I've got something I need to sort out – it doesn't matter what or where – and then I'm... Do you know what? I'm not sure. Go somewhere hot, maybe. Sit on a beach and try to forget about all of it. Goodbye, Oli.'

He embraced his friend. Oliver hugged him back. 'Take care of yourself, yeah?'

'I just knew it that you two were girlfriends.'

Out of all the voices that he didn't want to hear, out of all the people that he didn't want to see, this was the one he most dreaded. Daniel let go of Oliver and turned around. Terry Llewellyn stood a few metres away, backed up by Kevin Linley and Colin Lawson; his usual two thugs. They all had wide, stupid grins on their faces.

'The word was that you were dead,' Terry muttered. 'That's what it said in the papers anyway.'

Daniel glared at his old tormentor. 'I didn't know you could read.'

'Very funny, Henstock. That's a bit lippy for you though, ain't it? When did you stop being chicken?' He turned to his followers. 'Hen, chicken – get it?'

Kevin and Colin laughed on cue. From the look of their caveman-like foreheads Daniel wouldn't have been at all surprised if they hadn't have got the joke. Like everything else that had surrounded Terry Llewellyn for the last five years, his entourage had to fall in line with what he thought and said. To be in his gang you had to laugh at his jokes and be not quite as tough as he was.

Daniel just glared at him.

'Listen gay boy, if you want everyone to think you're dead that's fine by me, but if you keep looking at me like that then I'll make sure you really are. Do you get me?'

'Why was I ever afraid of you?' Daniel whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 'You're just gas and wind. You're an ant.'

A fire flared behind Terry's eyes. 'What did you call me?'

'Daniel, leave it,' Oliver begged.

'Better listen to your girlfriend,' Terry warned as he took a step towards Daniel. 'Or do you want to join you old ma and pa?'

'Don't you ever speak about them.'

'Or what? What are you going to do?'

'Something someone should've done years ago.' He said slipping off the back-pack a second time and dropped the canvas satchel on the ground next to it. He held Terry's eyes. 'You fat idiot.'

Terry's face twisted into a grimace. He grunted once then lunged – a clubbing right-hand sweep of his fist that usually knocked his chosen victim to the floor. Daniel took a half-step to his left and caught the swinging arm between his open palms. He pulled Terry onward, using the larger boy's momentum, twisted him over his hip and threw the bully to the floor.

Terry didn't have time to react to the move. Daniel grabbed his opponent's wrist and pinned it back. For the first time in his life Terry screamed in pain. Kevin and Colin both took a step forward, intent on pulling Daniel off their leader and beating him to a pulp. Daniel turned his head, and the cold look in his eyes stopped them before they got half way.

'If I were you I'd think twice about that,' Daniel said to them. He twisted Terry's wrist a little more and the bully cried out again. 'Unless you want some of the same?'

They both remained where they were. This was new territory to them. No one ever fought back, not really. Certainly not like this.

Terry struggled against Daniel's grip and lashed out desperately with his free hand, and his legs. Daniel twisted his wrist around a little further and Terry yelped in pain, swearing, telling Daniel what he was going to do to him when he got free.

'I put up with you bullying me year after year,' Daniel whispered, 'just accepting that that was the way of things. Well, not any more. You're right; people do think I'm dead but I'm not. I'm more alive than ever and I've had enough of you and what you do. I may not be coming back to this school but I am going to be watching. If you ever, and I mean ever, bully anyone else again I'll come back and make you wish you hadn't. Do you get me?' He twisted a little more.

'Yeah! Yeah, I get you,' Terry screamed. 'You're breaking my wrist.'

'That's the least I'd do.' He looked up at the other two. 'The same goes for you as well. Alright?'

Kevin and Colin both nodded. They looked stunned, like gargoyles from old churches.

'I'm going to let you up now,' Daniel whispered to Terry, 'and you're going to say "thank you" and walk away. Okay?'

'Yeah, yeah.'

Daniel eased his grip on Terry's wrist and stepped back. The bully sprang off the ground with surprising speed. He rubbed his wrist and glared at Daniel.

'Don't you have something to say, Mr Llewellyn?'

Terry glanced at his two henchmen. 'Some help you were.' Then he turned back to Daniel. 'Yeah, I've got something to say alright. You're dead meat.'

He lunged at Daniel with his left fist. Daniel blocked it with an open palm and pushed the hand higher. Terry lashed out with a kick which Daniel caught with his other hand. He spun on one heel and swiped Terry's leg from under him, keeping hold of his opponent's left hand. The bully crashed to the floor once more. Daniel wrenched Terry's wrist back and to the side as hard as he could.

Oliver later found out that Terry's scream – as the bully's wrist was broken and dislocated – was heard inside the main building. One of the teachers said later that she thought a cat had been run over.

'Perhaps I didn't make it clear before. I know that there was a lot of emotion going on and you were in pain but I thought you were going to say "thank you" and be on your way. Do you need me to say it again using smaller words?' Daniel asked, still keeping hold of Terry's wrist. 'I'm hoping that you've understood this time.'

'I am so going to kill you, chicken boy,' Terry spat. 'You'll wish you were dead.'

Daniel snapped out a hand. Terry's head smacked back down to the tarmac, his mouth now minus two teeth and weeping blood.

'No, Terry, you're not. You're not going to hurt me or anyone else again. Why is that so difficult to get?' He leaned in closer to Terry's ear and whispered, 'I've learned a lot of things in the few days I've been gone. I could kill you. I know how, but I'm not going to. Not even you deserve that. What I will do though, should you force me to, is put you in so much pain that you might prefer death.'

'You little shit,' Terry said, spitting blood. There was a faint whistling sound from the gap in his teeth as he said the "s". He lashed out again with his good hand.

Daniel blocked it, slammed it back down with the heel of his boot and jabbed Terry's chest with a closed fist. It didn't seem to be a hard blow but everyone there heard the crack of ribs.

The bully screamed again. 'You don't scare me.'

'It's not about fear, you idiot! It's about right and wrong. What you've done these last few years is wrong. You've gotten away with it because no one wanted to, or could, stand up to you. That's changed now. Oliver knows how to contact me, and if he should tell me that you've gone back to your old ways, even once, I'll do this to your other wrist then your ankles and I'll keep doing it until you do understand.' Daniel let go of Terry's wrist and stood up. 'Oh, and by the way, if any of you say that you saw me and that I did this, then... well, I don't have to draw you a picture, do I?'

Kevin and Colin shook their heads. If this skinny nobody could break Terry Llewellyn's wrist like that without even breaking sweat then what could he do to them?

Daniel looked down at the ex-bully. 'Terry?'

He nodded, as if saying the words would hurt him even more.

'I'll take that as a "yes" then.' Daniel turned back to his friend. Oliver's eyes were wide and he looked afraid. Daniel picked up the satchel and his backpack, and took his friend's arm. 'Come on, let's get away from here.'

'When did you learn how to do that stuff?' Oliver asked as him and Daniel sat against a fence railing, drinking cola. 'How did you learn to do it so quickly?'

'I'm not sure,' Daniel answered. 'It's like maths or chemistry or anything. I look at it in a book, or see it and I can do it.'

'What if Terry does talk? Or carries on bullying? I don't know how to get in touch with you.'

'I'm hoping you don't have to. With his wrist like that and his broken ribs I don't think he'll be up to much for a while at least. You'll not have to see him after June anyway.' Daniel drained his can and stood to go.

'I'm scared for you,' Oliver said. 'You've changed. And I'm not sure that I like the new you.'

Daniel nodded. 'I have changed. And to be honest, I'm not sure if I like the new me either. The thing is, right now, I haven't got a lot of choice in the matter. There are things happening that are out of my control. At least that's the way it seems. But I'm trying.'

'Are you going to see your mom and dad before you go off and do... whatever it is you're going to do?'

Daniel nodded. 'Yeah.'

'Yeah.'

'I'd better go. You too; you'll be late for registration.'

'What am I going to say about what happened to Terry?'

'I don't know, Oli.' He smiled. 'You'll think of something.'

Daniel stood in the marble-lined hall of The Holy Trinity Crematorium and placed a small bunch of lilies in the alcove containing two decorative urns.

A plaque in front of the urns read: "Joshua and Elizabeth Henstock, Beloved parents of Daniel". That was it. A lifetime summed up in eight words. It didn't seem enough. The man who killed them was dead but the man who'd sent the assassin was still alive. He hadn't said as much but Daniel was certain it was Gregory Dryden who'd given the order. Even thinking the man's name caused a well of bitter emotions to rise within in his chest.

What was it he was feeling? Was it revenge? No, revenge meant something Biblical like an eye for an eye. He didn't want to kill Dryden, but he did want him to suffer. And for a person with as much power as Daniel assumed Dryden must have, for him to suffer he'd need to have that power taken away.

A desire for justice – that's what Daniel decided he felt. He wanted justice. He wanted Dryden to admit his crimes and face up to the consequences of his actions. Daniel walked out of the Hall of Remembrance and made a vow to himself: he'd dealt with one bully today so why not stop another? And when it came down to it that's all Dryden was – for all his high-powered mannerisms, he was a playground bully; just that his playground was much, much bigger.

Daniel stood on the gravel drive and looked up into the sky. The grey clouds that earlier threatened rain had been replaced by thin, high clouds. Patchy sun broke through them and dappled the crematorium. He took it as a good omen.

Today would be the day that he'd rescue the professor and bring the man responsible for it all to justice.
CHAPTER 19

The drab brick and stone exterior of Brinkley House belied the modern, technical interior which Daniel knew it housed. Deception, he'd come to learn, was one of Dryden's weapons – make people think one thing when in reality the opposite was true.

The only people Daniel had seen coming and going through the polished wood and glass doors looked as if they were office workers taking lunch breaks, and a group of three workers were now making their way back to the corner building. He glanced at his watch. This trio had been the last he'd seen to leave; it was now or never.

He eased himself from the disused shop doorway in which he'd been standing and picked up the black back-pack at his feet. His phone rang and he scrambled to get it out of his satchel. The screen identified the caller as Eleanor. His finger hovered over the accept button but the three workers were nearly at the doors to Brinkley House. He pressed decline and made his way across the street, the black back-pack slung over one shoulder.

Daniel followed the workers into the marble foyer, up a short flight of steps which lead to a series of barriers – similar to those Daniel had seen used in London underground stations – and which stood before the main security desk. The three people in front of him passed a plastic card across a digital reader that allowed then to enter through the barriers one at a time. They each placed their mobile phones, keys, coins and other electronic equipment into small black trays and handed them to the guard behind the desk.

Daniel stood at the barriers and patted his jacket pockets, pretending to be looking for his ID card. The three workers took turns to pass under the metal detector arch and entered the E-M Pod.

The security guard frowned at Daniel. 'You coming?'

'Sure, just... give me a minute.'

The guard sighed and turned to the others. 'Keep your eyes closed,' he told them. 'When you hear the all-clear alarm exit the pod and make your way to the lifts.'

The Pod door hissed shut and the security guard started the machine. Only then did he turn his attention back to Daniel. 'What's the problem?'

'I think I've lost my ID,' Daniel muttered.

The guard's face was stone. He moved around the desk and stood on the opposite side of the barriers to Daniel. 'No card, no entry. You know the rules.'

Daniel looked back towards the entrance doors. 'It must have been when I paid for my sandwich.'

'Then you'd better go back and get it.'

'You see the thing is,' Daniel continued, 'I've got a programme running upstairs and I need to make sure it's okay. I can go back and get the card as soon as I make sure that everything's working.'

'No card, no entry,' the guard repeated. He looked Daniel up and down. 'What department do you work in, anyway?'

'R and D,' Daniel said.

'I don't recognise you.'

'I'm new. Only started last week. Couldn't you let me just through this once?'

The guard unclipped a phone from his belt. 'Who's your manager?'

'Do you have to call him? It'll be embarrassing.'

'Who's your manager?' the guard asked again, harder this time.

'You see, it's like this.'

Daniel threw his backpack over the barriers, and the guard instinctively raised his hands to catch it. While the bag was still in the air Daniel leaned on top of the barriers and flipped his legs up and over. Before the guard had the chance to react Daniel kicked him in the chest and sent him sprawling backwards, his phone clattering across the floor.

Daniel jabbed the man three times in quick succession – twice in the chest and once in the neck. The guard raised his head and, with a confused look on his face, grunted once before slumping back to the floor, unconscious.

Daniel nodded. 'Amazing what you can learn from a book.'

He picked up his backpack and the guard's phone then, grabbing the man by the back of his collar, dragged the guard around the desk, tucking him in as tight to the base of the high unit as he could.

Daniel knew from the building schematics that the exit door from the E-M Pod would only be unlocked once the machine pulse had completed its cycle, and that would only begin once the door this side had been sealed. And the only way to start the process was from the security guard's desk. The high-toned pitch of the machine started to lessen – telling Daniel that the three workers would be exiting the Pod any moment.

He took his phone out of his satchel, activated the Artificial Intelligence programme and linked it in to Brinkley House's security system. The majority of the security measures in place would take far too long to hack into but it seemed that none of the designers thought that anyone would want to activate the E-M Pod with a time-delay countdown.

He glanced towards the entrance doors. It only took the A.I. programme thirty seconds to bypass the nominal security on the E-M Pod and Metal Detector sub-systems but Daniel knew that if anyone walked in before he'd passed through them then it would all be over. That half-minute felt like an hour.

The Detector arch was turned off, the Pod door opened and the other measures Daniel had pre-programmed into the phone were put in place. He set the countdown timer to ten seconds, placed the phone into one of the empty black trays and slid it onto a shelf. He slipped his backpack on, tapped the screen to start the countdown and ran under the Metal Detector arch into the E-M Pod.

Brennan's phone sounded an alarm. He tapped the screen and read the displayed report. The signal acquisition had been brief – lasting no more than a second or two – but it was clear. A GPS location stamp displayed at the bottom of the report.

Brennan shook his head – he knew the location well. 'What the hell is he doing?'

'What was that?' Lithgow asked looking up from the newspaper he was holding.

'Nothing,' Brennan muttered. 'Where's Davis?'

'Getting a coffee, I think.'

Brennan headed out of his office. 'Davis,' he yelled.

Davis poked his head around a corner further down the corridor. 'Yep?'

'Get the chopper ready.'

'We going somewhere?'

'Just get it ready. I want to be airborne in two minutes.'

'What's going on?' Lithgow asked making his way out of the office.

'Nothing,' Brennan answered again, going back into the room. He opened a drawer in his desk; his gun lay next to a small Taser device. He looked at them both then pushed the gun aside and picked up the Taser.

'What's happened?' Lithgow asked.

'I'm not going to need you on this one,' Brennan said, pushing passed him back into the corridor. 'Finish your paper.'

Lithgow watched as Brennan made his way down the corridor towards the helicopter platform. 'Oh. Right.'

Daniel eased the exit door from the E-M Pod half open and peered into the marble-floored concourse which lay beyond. It was empty.

He darted across to the right hand lift that stood all by itself and pulled a small poly-ceramic unit from the satchel. It was oblong, about six centimetres long and three wide with an opening at one end. On the top of it was a clear, yielding plastic square – large enough to place a thumb or finger onto.

Two female voices drifted down the stairwell to the left in the corner of the concourse, along with the click of heels against the wooden flooring.

Daniel held the unit up to the encoder pad next to the lift entrance and hurriedly ran the open end of it across the pad. He checked the colour of the plastic square. It remained clear. The women's voices seemed louder – they were coming down the stairs and it sounded as if they would step into the concourse any moment. One of them laughed and her voice echoed around the empty room.

Daniel pushed the open end of the unit against the encoder pad again. Too fast; it slipped off the pad before it could take a clean reading. The voices were closer now, louder. He passed the unit over the pad a third time. The women were almost there.

The colour of the plastic square changed to green.

Daniel placed his thumb onto the plastic and it was instantly coated in a thin duplicate print of the person who had last called the lift. He pressed his thumb against the encoder pad; a thin beam of red light scanned the print and the lift door opened. He darted inside – squeezing himself into the corner – and as the lift door eased closed the women stepped into the concourse.

Daniel breathed heavily for a few seconds then inspected the inside of the lift. This wasn't something he was expecting – the polished metal interior had no visible means of being controlled. How did they tell the lift where they wanted to go? That was it, it must be voice activated: they had to say where they wanted to go.

'Twenty- five,' Daniel muttered.

Nothing happened.

'Top floor,' Daniel continued.

Still nothing happened. Daniel started to breathe heavily. He didn't have time to second guess what the correct command might be. He'd have to climb up.

He slipped the poly-ceramic unit back into his satchel and pulled out a short length of climbing rope from a side pocket of the back-pack. He tied one end around his waist and the other to the straps of the satchel and back-pack. From another side pocket he took out a pair of gloves and pulled them onto his hands. The palms of the gloves were covered in a grey fabric which would protect his hands from the harsh twisted braids of lift cables. He braced himself against the walls of the lift and reached up to open the hatch in the centre of the ceiling. Daniel hauled himself through the hatch and stood on top on the lift, pulling the satchel and back-pack back up after him. When the bags were sitting on top of the lift he took out a head-torch, closed the hatch and looked up the shaft. He remained motionless for a few moments, frowning, not quite sure what to do now; the beam from his head-torch showed that the lift had no cables.

'What is this place?'

He looked up into the darkness of the shaft – close to a hundred metres lay between him and Dryden's offices and he couldn't see any way of getting there. It was then that he noticed a slim, ladder-like lattice attached to one wall, disappearing into the shadows. The lattice was just wide enough for a hand or boot. He made sure the knot holding the bags to his waist was secure, swivelled it around to his back then started climbing.

The rotor blades were spinning at half power by the time Brennan ducked his way through the open door and into the seat beside Davis. The blades reached full power and seconds later the sleek, black helicopter eased its way off the roof.

'So where are we going?' Davis asked.

His words sounded tinny through the ear-pieces Brennan wore. 'Brinkley House.'

Davis turned to him. 'What's the rush? What's going on?'

Brennan checked the controls on the Taser unit. 'Just get me there as quick as you can.'

'Always a bloody mushroom,' Davis muttered looking away through the windows.

'What?'

'Nothing. Just something Lithgow mentioned.'

Daniel was panting and smeared with dark, oily grease by the time he'd hauled himself up to the twenty-fifth floor but the gloves had prevented his hands from the worst the lattice ladder could offer.

He stepped onto a ledge by the shaft doors and, running his hand gently around the edge of them, found the emergency release switch. The doors glided silently open and he stepped in the penthouse lobby, pulling up the back-pack and satchel. He noticed the ceiling cameras at once and hoped that Dryden was in his office watching him right at that moment. But no alarm bells sounded, no security sirens wailed.

He was almost disappointed. Perhaps he'd have to face Dryden another time.

His breathing began to ease, the tiredness from his arms melting away. He took off the gloves, tucked them into his jacket, and pulled out a plastic wedge. He jammed it under the open door; no lift would not operate if its doors were open, no matter how good the technology. Basic safety. At least he hoped that was true for this strange new lift.

He un-clipped what looked like a large cummerbund from around his waist and moved up to the first set of doors. He slipped a number of polymer tools from a hidden pouch and selected one that resembled a dentist's pick. Almost every door in Brinkley House, according to the schematics he'd read at Pickford's, was automated but when it came down to it a lock was just a lock. And if you had a key...

It took Oscar Kent four attempts before he managed to catch Gregory Dryden's attention.

The man in the maroon suit stood in one of the experimental rooms with only a thin Teflon-coated mask for protection, and watched as Batch #3142 was administered to the test subject. He never named them – the test subjects, that is – and seldom even acknowledged if they were male or female. This subject, however, was a man; thin and wiry, his limbs abnormally long and the sides of his head bulbous.

Straps ran across the width of the bed and held the man in place. Wireless sensors attached to his chest and head displayed readings on several monitors. A large plastic tube ran into the base of the man's skull from a tall metal cylinder behind his bed. The man shrieked when the dark, silvery fluid running along the tube reached his head and he thrashed against the straps.

Dryden watched the results on the monitors with passionless eyes.

Eventually the knocking at the door made him turn around and he saw Kent's apologetic face.

Dryden pressed a button on the nearest console. 'What is it?' he snarled. 'I told you that I wasn't to be disturbed.'

'I know, sir,' Oscar replied, his voice shaking. 'I'm sorry.'

'Then why are you disturbing me?'

'There's word come from Brinkley House, sir.'

Dryden waited for Oscar to continue. 'About?'

'Apparently someone has broken in,' Oscar said. 'The security guard's been found unconscious and we're having difficulty communicating with personnel inside.'

Dryden tore the mask from his face and stormed out of the room. Oscar stepped away from him as Dryden entered the corridor. 'When was this?'

Oscar swallowed hard. 'It's happening right now, sir.'

Daniel prised the small panel away from the base of the door leading to Dryden's office and repeated the procedure he'd used to open the outer lobby door. He placed a thin polymer strip between two of the node connectors and attached fibre-optic leads to several of the junction points.

He snipped four of the thin, transparent cables with a small pair of plastic secateurs and the door opened on silent hinges. His nemesis's office lay before him. Daniel got to his feet and slowly stepped into the room. It was not as he expected but perhaps the austerity of the space gave more away about the nature of its owner than anything else.

Daniel pulled the poly-ceramic unit from his jacket pocket, passed it over the encoder pad attached to Dryden's computer and took a reading of the print used to access it. He covered his thumb with the new coating and a second later the entirety of Dryden's private files lay open to him.

He was tempted to delve into Dryden's secrets there and then; to find out more about the man and his shadowy past but knew that time was against him. He had a plan and if there was any chance of this rescue working then there wasn't any option for deviation. Concentrate, he told himself. Focus on what's important right now. He opened a web mail browser, synched it to Dryden's files and began sending them. He tapped at the virtual keypad again and searched for where the professor was being held.

The down-wash from the helicopter's rotor blades was the first indication to the handful of pedestrians on the pavement outside Brinkley House that something was amiss.

Several cars screeched to a halt as Davis eased the sleek, black machine down towards the tarmac. The support runners had barely touched solid ground before Brennan slid the door open and stepped out. Car horns sounded but the angry yells of motorists were lost in the whump, whump, whump of the rotor blades.

'Do you want me to wait?' Davis yelled above the roar of the engine.

'Negative,' Brennan replied. 'Stay at altitude and get ready for an emergency evac.'

Davis didn't reply, choosing instead to hold his commander's eye.

'What?' Brennan asked.

Davis gave a shake of his head. 'Nothing.'

He powered the engine back up and lifted the helicopter into the air. Brennan ignored the numerous irate on-lookers and watched it go for a moment before he headed towards the corner entrance of the building Tiberius had forced his way into.

Brennan couldn't help but smile, as he passed through the first line of barriers, when he saw the security guard being attended to by a medic.

'Where is he?' Brennan asked after regaining his composure.

The guard looked up into Brennan's grey eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

'You don't know?'

'He's done something to the internal scanners,' the guard muttered. 'He could be anywhere.'

'What about a floor-by-floor?'

The guard shook his head and shrugged his shoulders once more.

The expression on Brennan's face suggested what he thought of the guard without him having to actually speak the words. 'Let me through, then. And don't let anyone out until I come back.'

The guard gave another embarrassed wince. 'He's... He's jammed the Pod mechanics. We can't get the door open. Tech-services should be here any minute.'

Brennan smiled again. It wasn't a warm smile. 'Do you really want to be around when he gets here, and have to tell him that?'

The guard's expression said he knew whom Brennan was referring to.

'I mean, you've done a bang-up job so far,' Brennan continued, 'he's bound to be impressed. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a little something extra in your pay-packet this month.'

'If the boy went through the Pod,' the guard muttered, 'then he's stuck in there. There's no other way out. He'll be found before long.'

'Yeah right,' Brennan smiled, ''cos that'll save you.' He moved back through the barriers and out onto the street. He took out his mobile and dialled a number.

Daniel ran his gloved hand gently around the edge of the lift door on the floor below Dryden's office, found the emergency release switch and stood aside as the door glided open.

He waited for a moment before stepping out of the shaft into the corridor. It was a world away from Dryden's austere office and if he didn't know better he would have thought this was part of the PathGen labs. The bright corridor smacked of surgical cleanliness and even the air smelled of antiseptic. But at least it was empty.

Dryden's computer listed the professor as being held in the far corner room. The only sound as Daniel made his way along the corridor was the soft tread of his boots.

'The doors are being jammed locally,' the Tech-service engineer told Brennan.

'What does that mean, exactly?'

The engineer swivelled his Tablet around and showed Brennan the fluctuating display. 'There's a pirate signal overriding the Pod's mechanism protocols.' He tapped at the screen. 'Its source is local, somewhere close.'

'Find it.'

The engineer tapped at the screen a few more times and quickly isolated the source of Daniel's hacking signal. 'Here,' he said pointing, 'in the personal drawers.'

Brennan pulled out the black plastic tray; a blue light pulsed in the corner of the display screen on Daniel's phone. Brennan handed the phone to the engineer. 'Close it down.'

Daniel edged down the corridor, holding his breath despite the fact that there was no one else present. The step of his boots sounded like a thunderstorm to him in the stillness of the corridor.

He turned the last corner and the white door which sealed the room holding the professor came into view. One look at it told Daniel that this one would be significantly more difficult to open that the doors to Dryden's office.

Dryden's torpedo-like helicopter sliced through the cloud layer as it sped over the Aylesbury countryside. A flickering, holographic image of a man was projected out of a small, floor-mounted glass screen in the centre of the passenger compartment.

'Where the hell is he?' Dryden barked at the image.

'We suspect that he's—' the image crackled as the feed distorted, '— two floors. We've confirmed that your private lift has been disabled.' The image flickered and wavered once more.

'Say again. You're breaking up.'

'We're sure that he's on one of the top two floors,' the man's image repeated. 'They're the only levels which we can't get to.'

'Then get someone up there,' Dryden yelled.

'Yes, sir.' The man's voice didn't convey confidence.

'And I want him alive,' Dryden added. He prodded at a button before the man could answer and the hologram zapped away into nothingness.

Dryden flicked at his earpiece, connecting through to the pilot. 'You can get a bloody move on as well.'

A six-centimetre side panel lay on the pristine corridor floor as Daniel tweaked the polymer cells in the frame of the white door. Several more fibre-optic leads ran from junction points and circumvented what he knew to be the standard security measures. He snipped some more of the thin transparent cables but the door didn't open as expected.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his jacket sleeve. 'Come on, come on.'

He was missing something. The security schematics that had been displayed on Pickford's holographic table only listed the door mechanics up to the twenty-third floor and this laboratory-type door was even more complex than those on the upper penthouse level.

It was clear that Dryden deemed whatever was going on behind these doors was more sensitive than even his own personal secrets.

Daniel ran the schematics through his mind: the thousands of pathways, the security loops, the traps and pitfalls. None of it was any use now. He wasn't going to be able to open this door simply by remembering how to bypass the mechanism.

He'd just have to use what he knew and try to figure out the rest. But that meant time, and Daniel knew that was the one thing he didn't have a lot of. For the first time since stepping foot inside Brinkley House he was worried.

The Tech-services engineer passed Daniel's phone back to Brennan. 'I've stopped the jamming frequency,' he said, 'but there's no knowing what damage it's already done without running a full diagnostic.'

'Just tell me where he is.'

The monitor screens running the length of the security guard's desk flickered into life. One showed the lobby beyond the far E-M Pod door; it stood ajar, with several of the suited office workers trying to prise it fully open. They were having no success – the door was jammed half way open.

'Can we open the door this side?' Brennan asked.

'Not with the other one as it is,' the guard replied.

The Tech-engineer continued looking at his Tablet but made a grunting sound.

'What?' Brennan said.

The engineer shook his head. 'Nothing.'

'Can the door be opened?'

'No,' the guard repeated, stronger this time. 'Not possible.'

'That's not strictly true,' the engineer muttered. He turned to Brennan. 'One of the emergency safety protocols we have is that each of the doors can open a maximum of half way at the same time. In case of fire or something, you know.'

'No one told me that,' the guard said.

'Need to know, I guess.' The engineer continued. 'Anyway, we won't be able to operate the E-M pulse but at least it'd be enough for us to get people out if we needed.'

'Or be able to get me in,' Brennan finished. 'Do it. And don't let anyone else out.'

The engineer nodded. 'Sure. And by the way,' he turned his Tablet to face Brennan. 'He's on twenty-four.'

On the seventh attempt at reconfiguring the fibre-optic connections and polymer cells Daniel managed to ease the white door open. Concealed wall lights powered up and gave him just enough light to see by.

The room was large with the central rectangular area cordoned off with floor-to-ceiling plastic strips. The thick plastic was opaque but through it Daniel could see the twinkle of coloured lights and hear the beep of electrical equipment. Daniel wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, stepped up to the plastic and parted the strips.

What lay in the darkness behind reminded Daniel of a medieval torture chamber. Three flat, circular metal discs were suspended from the ceiling by thin cables and through the middle of them lay a naked Professor Cuthberts. He was connected to the discs by myriad of silvery wires which slipped under his skin, and wireless sensors were attached to his chest and legs. The professor's head had been shaved and a freshly stitched wound sliced from above his right ear to the centre of his head. His eyes were closed and only a small, blue surgical cloth protected his dignity. Sweat glistened off him in the dim light. Numerous monitors charted the fluctuations of the professor's condition.

Daniel dropped the back-pack and satchel to the floor. He took a deep breath and stepped closer to him. 'Professor?'

The older man's eyes flickered but didn't open.

'Professor,' Daniel repeated with more conviction. 'I'm here to save you.'

Alan's eyes opened; slowly, painfully, and he rolled his head to where the words came out of the dark. He blinked and focused on the boy standing there. 'You're not real,' he muttered through dry, cracked lips. His eyes closed. 'You're not real.'

'I am.' Daniel began inspecting the discs. 'I'm very real.'

The professor's eyes opened again, this time focusing clearer on Daniel. 'No,' he moaned. 'No.' Several of the monitor's registered elevated readings and a high pitched beep began to sound. 'You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be here.'

'Well I am. You saved me – twice. It's about time I started paying you back.' He took out his secateurs and began snipping the silvery wires.

The professor gripped Daniel's hand. 'No. You have to listen. Dryden wanted you to try. He doesn't care about me; it's you he's after.'

'I've been up in his office,' Daniel told him, 'he's not here. Just give me a minute and I'll have you—' He ran his hand around the back of the professor's neck and discovered a thick, clear tube running from the floor into the old man's head '— free.'

'There is no freeing me,' the professor muttered. 'I'm just the bait to get you here.'

Daniel eyes hardened, and so did his voice. 'I am going to free you.'

He placed the blades of the secateurs around the tube but, despite how hard he squeezed the handles, it wouldn't break.

A siren sounded in the hallway and the monitors next to him started to flash red.

'Get out,' Alan ordered. He gripped Daniel's hand once more. 'Now! Please, while you still can.'

A thick, silver – almost metallic – fluid began to seep up the tube from the floor. Daniel let go of the professor's hand and tried once more to cut the transparent tube. The secateurs didn't even make a mark on it. Daniel dropped them and tugged at the tube but it held fast to the floor.

'Daniel.' The professor's voice was weak.

'This might hurt.' Daniel held the back of the old man's head and tried to pull the tube free. The professor screamed and his whole body tensed. Daniel released his grip. The silver fluid edged ever closer to the old man's neck.

'I can't stop it,' Daniel yelled.

'Daniel, listen to me: you have to leave before it's too late.'

'I'm not going without you.'

The professor's eyes became clear. 'It's already too late, my boy. It was over for me the moment they hooked me up to these machines.'

'No.' Tears welled up in Daniel's eyes. 'I won't let it.' He tugged and strained at the cable, desperately trying to wrench it out of the floor. It didn't budge. 'I'll not leave you. I'll not leave you.'

The silver fluid reached the professor's neck. The scream that came from the old man's mouth didn't even sound human. He thrashed at the wires that still held him and the three metal discs rattled against the cables.

He gripped his hand, surprising Daniel with his strength.

'No,' Daniel cried. 'I can save you.'

The professor opened his mouth. 'Save the others,' he gasped. 'Save the others... like you, at the PathGen labs. Dryden hasn't stopped, Daniel. He's trying to recreate something we perfected with you. He's—' His words were cut short by a violent spasm.

The old man convulsed as the effects of the silver fluid coursed through him and another primeval scream broke through his lips. The life-sign displays on the monitors peaked then suddenly dropped to zero. A thin, constant tone pierced through the wail of the sirens and the professor's body went limp against the wires holding him. His final breath came out in a wispy, throaty gurgle.

Daniel cradled the old man's head, crying over and over that he couldn't be dead.

Brennan clambered up the last few metres of Dryden's private lift shaft to the doors on the twenty-fourth floor when the sound of the sirens reached him. Above him the open doors leading to Dryden's penthouse lobby sent out a beam of light.

He activated the release mechanism and stepped into the brightly lit corridor, pulling out the Taser and Daniel's phone from his jacket – three red dots pulsed on its screen, somehow the tracking sensors had survived intact after an E-M pulse. The wail of the sirens was louder now he stood in the corridor and the cascade of noise bouncing off the walls was close to overwhelming him.

Brennan edged along the corridor and caught sight of a flashing pulse of red light coming from the open corner doorway. He flipped the Taser to 'On' and stepped quietly up to the room.

Daniel knelt on the floor, holding the professor's hand, with tears streaming down his face. The blare of the sirens blocked out the sound of the young man's sobs but the wracking shudder of his shoulders told Brennan all he needed to know. He lowered the Taser.

'Daniel,' he said but the word was lost against the alarms. He moved the plastic sheeting further aside and stepped inside. 'Daniel,' he repeated, louder.

The young man's head turned a fraction.

'It's time to go,' Brennan said.

Daniel let go of the professor's hand, slowly stood up and wiped the tears away with the back of his sleeve. His normally calm and peaceful eyes were now full of anger.

'I'm the first one to get to you, Daniel, ' Brennan told him. 'The tracking beacons on you told me you were here but it won't be long before the others turn up. There isn't any way out of here, except if you come with me. Now.'

Daniel stepped forward and the expression on his face suggested that he wasn't prepared to go quietly.

Brennan held out his other hand with Daniel's phone. 'Now hold on just a minute. I can see you're upset –'

'Upset?'

'Just... just take it easy, Daniel. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not your enemy.'

Daniel covered the distance between them in the blink of an eye and hit the man blocking his exit with a snap kick to the ribs. This may not be Dryden but he worked for the man and was therefore guilty by association for killing the professor. Brennan bundled backwards through the plastic sheeting, knocking over one of the monitors as he fell, surprised by the speed and ferocity of the boy's attack.

Daniel didn't let up – he followed Brennan past the sheeting; a snapping jab to the side of Brennan's head was followed by a heel to the man's left knee. Brennan buckled, crying out in pain and dropping Daniel's phone. He blocked the next attack and, when he stood up, locked the teenager in what he thought was a secure embrace.

'We haven't got time for this,' he said. 'I need to get you out of here now!'

Daniel let his knees buckle and twisted sharply to the left – Brennan's grip weakened momentarily; Daniel slipped away from him and stung the older man with an uppercut to the jaw.

'You're making a mistake,' Brennan yelled, blocking another attack. 'I am not your enemy.'

'You're the one who's made the mistake,' Daniel answered, hitting Brennan in the chest with a jab. 'And you've made me your enemy whether you want it or not.'

Brennan went to grab Daniel, to shake some sense into him but Daniel gripped the lapels of Brennan's jacket before the older man got a strong hold. He smacked his forehead into Brennan's nose then rolled onto his back, pulling Brennan with him. Daniel tucked his legs in and when Brennan was at the apex of being unbalanced, he kicked. Daniel launched Brennan over the wall of monitors and sent him crashing into the wall.

Brennan sprung back to his feet; blood seeping from his nose and forehead, and his grey eyes no longer placid. 'Okay, that's enough. I don't care if you want to or not,' he said wiping the blood away, 'but you're coming with me.'

Daniel was on him as the final word left his mouth – another kick sending Brennan back into the wall. Brennan blocked Daniel's next punch and thudded a fist into the teenager's stomach. It seemed as if all the air in Daniel's body left him in the blink of an eye, and he fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

Brennan grabbed Daniel's collar and hauled him to his feet. 'I don't care who you are; you shouldn't play games if you don't know the rules. Now come on.'

Daniel took a deep, shuddering breath and kicked at Brennan's knee again; the older man's leg gave way and he fell to the floor. Daniel followed up with crunching punch to Brennan's nose. His fist came back speckled with blood. Brennan raised the Taser and tried to press it against Daniel's leg but Daniel's oil-stained boot caught the move. He slammed Brennan's wrist to the floor, the Taser bouncing out of his hand. Another snapping jab caught the older man on the nose for the second time, and sent Brennan crashing into more of the monitors.

Daniel grabbed Brennan by the collar of his jacket with his left hand and balled his right into a tight fist. He knew where to hit the man to kill him – at the base of the nose, to drive the bone and cartilage up into the brain. He pulled his arm back, ready to strike but paused as he saw the look of comprehension in the man's eyes.

'No,' Brennan gasped through bloodied teeth. 'Wait. Wait!'

With one easy motion he could send a message to Dryden that this wasn't over. But was he really ready to kill someone? With one swift punch he could take this man's life. But the fire of rage dulled a fraction in Daniel's eyes. Learning an action in a book was one thing; putting that theory into practice was another thing altogether.

He punched Brennan on the bridge of the nose instead of the base – more blood sprayed from the man's face – then Daniel followed up with a thumping front-kick to Brennan's chest, sending the Scot crashing into the wall. Daniel calmly moved over and picked the Taser up. 'I'm not one of you.'

'No, don't. Listen –'

Daniel pressed the activation button and jabbed the Taser into Brennan's neck. Fifty thousand volts arced between the two electrodes. Brennan convulsed as the electricity surged through him and within seconds lay unconscious on the floor.

Daniel stood, dropped the Taser next to Brennan and considered how close he'd come to crossing a line. There had been countless philosophers over the years, he'd remembered reading about, who had argued that once a person takes another's life they are irrevocably tainted. He decided that there was only one person who'd be worth paying that price.

But to do that he'd have to focus on the now. And the "now" was the easy part: getting out of the building.
CHAPTER 20

Dryden's helicopter descended onto Brinkley House's rooftop and even before the pilot had secured the wheel locks, Dryden was heading towards the second, seldom used, entrance into the building.

The hidden doorway was housed in an odd-looking, angular dome that, if viewed from above – by a spy-satellite, for instance – would appear level to the rest of the building. He pressed both hands flat on a plasma screen close to the door. The screen scanned his prints, isolating his fingertips. A moment later the screen went green and a section of the dome panelling next to the door sunk away revealing another polymer screen; it looked like the imprint of a screaming face, with holes for the eyes and mouth. Either side of the screen were smooth metal bars.

Dryden pressed his face up against the polymer screen and gripped the metal bars; his eyes wide and his mouth open. A thin beam scanned his retinal print and a swab dipped into the side of his mouth. Seconds later the door leading down into the rear of his penthouse office opened.

Only one person had attempted to bypass this level of security – seven years ago now, in an act of industrial espionage. As Dryden made his way down the steps to the door leading to his office he gave a smile, remembering the consequences. He wondered if the thief had had time to react to the lasers firing through the open areas of the "face". Or had the electricity passing through the metals bars killed him first? Not that it mattered; that was the price of amateurish stupidity. No one came forward to claim ownership of the thief's body, no one mourned his death and no other break-ins had been attempted. Until now.

Daniel picked up his phone, tucked it inside his jacket and looped the satchel's strap over one shoulder. He lifted his backpack off the floor, opened it and took out two, identical, smaller backpacks. Each pack had a red, metal rip-cord running from the right-hand strap. He dropped the now-empty larger backpack by Brennan's feet and slipped his arms through the loops of both of the smaller packs – one over his chest, the other across his back. He zipped up his jacket, pulled the collar high and secured the lower belt clip, of the pack across his back, around his waist.

He'd spotted a window in the corridor on his way from the lift. At only twenty-four floors his escape was always going to be risky, but there was no other way.

Dryden stood in his office and knew immediately that Daniel had been there – his chair was not in its usual place and there was the faint odour of grease and oil.

Dryden activated his screen; the holographic keyboard instantly appearing and replayed the security recordings. He watched as Daniel walked into the room and accessed the computer. Dryden couldn't help but give a cold smile at Daniel's image on the screen waving at the camera before moving to the computer. Dryden called up the last viewed document and swore under his breath as the details of where he was keeping the professor appeared.

Daniel's image on the screen walked back out of the office – the time stamp told Dryden that he was twelve minutes behind the boy. He pulled a slim, gas syringe from his jacket, primed it and moved through into the lobby. He kicked away the plastic wedge keeping the elevator doors open, called the lift and took the two second ride down to the floor below. Dryden paused a moment before stepping into the corridor. He took out his small phone and tapped the screen.

'This is Control. I'm now on the premises. Cancel the alarms.'

The main sirens went quiet before he'd replaced the phone into his jacket but the thin, constant tone from the professor's room took over. It was then that he noticed the cold breeze blowing towards him down the corridor.

Daniel pushed the window open as far as it would swing on its hinges then, from one of the back-packs, pulled on a set of fingerless leather gloves and a pair of sepia-tinted goggles. He hauled himself up onto the ledge and looked down. A wave of nausea nearly overcame him and for a moment he was close to panicking. At that height the wind whipped and pulled at his clothes – seemingly trying to pull him out of the building – and what had appeared such a simple idea back in Pickford's basement suddenly seemed to be a crazy idea. The sirens in the corridor behind him went quiet. It was now or never. He took one last glance over his shoulder into the empty corridor, took another deep breath then launched himself into the air.

Daniel gritted his teeth. It was one thing knowing the formula for a falling body of weight but experiencing it first hand was another thing altogether. He pulled the red rip-cord on the back-pack's shoulder strap and a polymer chute shot out. It was instantly pulled into shape and in the swirling air it jerked him violently to one side. He swung dangerously close to the building's wall and came close enough to scuff the tips of his boots against the bricks. He only managed to save himself from injury by pulling sharply on the chute's toggles.

The action swung him back around – but with too much force. The wind bounced off the walls and slapped against the chute, sending him into a perilous spiral. He started to pivot, faster and faster; his legs pushed out wide. It was like sitting on the multi-coloured spinning whirl that he used to play on in the park when he was a child, only a thousand times worse. Even with the chute fully deployed he was heading towards the grass and tarmac at the rear of Brinkley House at a fatal speed.

The faster he spun the harder he found it to breathe and realised that if he wasn't able to do something in the next few seconds then he wasn't sure what would happen first: either he'd lose consciousness or he'd slam into the ground. Neither sounded good.

With one last effort he yanked on the toggles. The chute pitched violently to the side and he was jerked around in the opposite direction of the near-fatal spiral. He angled the chute away from the building, aiming for a all-but-empty car park a block away from Brinkley House. The nausea subsided. He suddenly thought that the professor might not have been as lucky, even if he'd have managed to get the old man this far.

But it would've been good to try.

Daniel hit the ground hard. He'd managed to guide the chute to a wide space between the few cars and tried to roll but the strength of momentum was too much. He ended up losing his balance and tipped over, bouncing over the tarmac. As he rolled over the loose gravel he got wrapped in the cord and polymer chute, like he was some sort of spider's meal, eventually coming to rest at the base of a low hedge. After a few deep breaths managed to untangle himself from both the parachute and the hedge.

The gravel had scraped his face and finger-tips, and blood spotted from numerous small wounds. He got to his feet and could feel, from the stinging in his legs, that his knees and thighs had been skinned as well. He unclipped the waist strap and shrugged off the used back-pack. With one last look back at the imposing shape of Brinkley House he limped away.

The further Dryden walked along the corridor the fiercer the blowing wind became. He paused for a moment at the junction splitting off to the corner room and the open window, scanning the space. Dryden nodded slowly, as if he understood its significance, then returned the gas syringe back inside his jacket and pulled out his phone once more. 'Tiberius is no longer in Brinkley House,' he said as the call was answered. 'Get a search team out for him. He's within a mile radius.'

The phone returned to his pocket and he made his way to the right, towards the corner room. He stepped into the room, taking in the knocked-over tables and machines. He moved up to the plastic sheeting, parted it with one hand and looked at the professor's corpse, with a chill expression. The silver fluid seeped out of the old man's ears and eyes; lines of it trailed down his face and dripped onto the dark floor.

'Oh, Alan,' he muttered in a whisper. 'At least it looks as if you'll stay dead this time.' He switched off the alarm tone and the room went quiet.

Dryden pulled his mobile from his jacket pocket once more and tapped the screen. Brennan's phone started ringing from behind the bank of monitors. Dryden paused for a moment and an expression that bordered on confusion flashed across his face. He moved back outside the ring of sheeting, and followed the noise. He stepped up to the Scot's unconscious form and regarded the man with an even colder gaze. He cancelled the call and was about to return the phone to his pocket when it buzzed.

'Yes?' he snapped.

The muscle in the corner of his jaw twitched as he heard the feminine voice on the other end of the line.

'Our system shows that Brinkley House has suffered some sort of... attack.' The woman's soft, Welsh accent belied the edge to her words.

'Yes,' he said trying to sound authoritative, 'but the matter's now been resolved.'

There was a slight pause before the woman spoke again. 'I'm told that Tiberius was the cause of the problem.'

'Yes.'

'So you have him in custody?'

'No.'

A longer pause this time. 'No? Really? How interesting.' Her voice became more business-like. 'I'll send over some of my people. It sounds as if you need the help.'

'No, no,' he said hurriedly. 'That's not necessary, Margaret. I assure you the matter is in hand. Tiberius may have eluded us this time but I've already –'

The woman interrupted him. 'Let me stop you right there, Gregory. Tiberius hasn't eluded us, he's eluded you. And considering the number of "mistakes" you've made recently I'm not sure you're in a position to assure anything. I'll be honest with you; the Board aren't overly happy with the way this whole sorry situation has been handled.'

'You've been speaking with the Board?'

'Comments have been made. And between the two of us; they haven't been complimentary.'

'You don't have any authority to speak with them. That's my responsibility.'

'But you've been so terribly busy of late, Gregory. Concerns have been raised, at the highest level, and they decided to appoint me as co-liaison.'

'What?'

'However, never let it be said that we don't give people a second chance. Or would that a third or fourth chance as far as you're concerned?'

'You know that it's never as simple as –'

'They've instructed me,' Margaret interrupted him once more, 'to let you know that you have one more day to rectify the matter. Once that time has lapsed then I will have the authority to take charge. Still, I'm sure it won't come to that. Will it?'

'No.'

'Splendid. Oh, and one more thing, Gregory.'

'Yes?'

'In what condition is the bait you used?'

'Bait?'

She gave a long sigh. 'Don't take me for a fool. In what condition is the professor?'

'Dead, I'm afraid,' Dryden said. 'The fail-safe initiated before Tiberius could free him.'

'That's disappointing news,' Margaret said. 'I'm sure there were secrets still locked up in that noggin of his that we could have used.'

Dryden allowed himself a smug grin. 'I already took the liberty of... extracting anything useful from him.'

'Then perhaps you're not quite the liability everyone thinks you are. Send me over what you managed to get.'

His grin faded and he did his best to sound compliant. 'Of course.'

'We're all on the same side, Gregory, but for your sake clean up this mess. One day; that's all. I look forward to receiving your call.'

The line went dead before he had the chance to reply. Dryden screwed his eyes shut and bit back the insults that were fighting their way to the surface. He pushed the phone back into his jacket and looked down at the unconscious man at his feet. 'Why the hell did you let him get away?'

Dryden drew back a leg and kicked Brennan with each word spoken.

A mile away from Brinkley House Daniel leaned his back against a wall and caught his breath. Around him, in the small arcade of shops, people went about their normal business; their lives no different now from when they awoke that morning. Daniel watched them with envious eyes.

Then the image of the professor, cut up and tortured like a lab rat, came back to him.

If only I hadn't tried to free him, Daniel thought, he'd still be alive.

No, his voice of logic whispered; it's not your fault. No matter how much he wished it were different, Daniel knew deep down that even if he hadn't come for the professor the old man still wouldn't have lived. Dryden would have seen to that. The man who'd orchestrated Daniel's past had taken away another piece of his life; just as he'd taken his parents. The man thought he could ruin people's lives and kill without any care; that he could play God and no one would mind.

There was only one thing left for Daniel to do, if he really was to redress the balance for what Dryden had done to everyone he'd ever cared about. Daniel drew the back of one hand across his nose, pushed himself away from the wall and felt the shape of his phone in his back pocket. He pulled it out and pressed the screen.

'Eleanor?' he said when the call was answered. 'It's Daniel.'

'My God, Daniel. Are you okay? I've been so worried.'

'I'm fine.'

'I tried to call you earlier.'

'I know.'

'There's something I need to tell you,' she quickly gabbled, 'the man who crashed the car the other day by the diner, the one who you recognised –'

'What about him?' It wasn't only her words which inflamed his concern; it was also the panicked tone in her voice.

'He came to the house this morning.'

'Did he hurt you?'

'No, no he didn't. Not at all. In fact...'

'What?'

It sounded as if Eleanor took a breath before answering. 'He said he was trying to help; that he was trying to protect you.'

'He's lying.'

'Maybe. Only... only I'm not so sure. I think he might've been telling the truth. He said that he didn't work for Dryden.'

'Right, sure. So who does he work for?'

'He didn't say, just that it was someone else.'

Daniel recalled the words spoken by the Scottish man after the professor had died. 'Trust me; he's lying. They're all liars. The important thing was that he didn't hurt you.'

Eleanor went quiet.

'He didn't hurt you, right?'

'No, he didn't.' Her voice cracked. 'It's not that.'

'Then what is it?'

'I didn't know what to think. He told me his name was William Cross and that him telling me that was supposed to be a sign of his honesty. I'm sorry: he sounded so convincing.'

'What do you have to be sorry for?' Daniel paused. 'What did you do?'

'I was only trying to help –'

'Ellie, what did you do?'

He could hear her tears. 'I told him where you were; what you were doing. I'm sorry.'

Daniel closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. 'That's fine, Ellie. Don't worry about it.'

'Just before he left,' Eleanor continued, 'he called someone. Whoever it was, he told them that they needed to watch you now.'

'That's okay. Don't worry about it.'

'But I am worried. He... he also said to the person that he was sending them the frequency for some tracking beacons.'

Daniel opened his eyes. 'Tracking beacons?'

'He told me that he'd put some beacons on you a few days ago without you knowing. He said that when you left your cell phone with me at the deli they came back online for a minute. If there's someone who can track you then you need to be careful.'

Daniel pushed himself away from the wall and moved towards the main road, searching for anyone looking at him. 'I've already met him.'

'What happened?'

Daniel smiled. 'I got away.'

Eleanor paused again. 'Have you... I mean, have you seen your professor?'

'Yeah,' Daniel said.

'And?'

'It's not good.'

'Oh, Daniel, I'm so sorry.'

'I did everything I could but... I just couldn't save him.'

'I don't know what to say.' Eleanor paused again. Daniel could hear her breathing. 'Does this mean you're staying there... or what?'

'There's one more thing I need to do before I can even think about what happens tomorrow.'

'What? What else do you need to do?'

'Close Dryden down,' Daniel said, flagging down a taxi. 'Once and for all.'
CHAPTER 21

Pickford shifted his gaze onto the plasma Tablet that Luca handed to him. He held the thin, flat screen and looked at the sharp image of a man dressed in a light grey trench coat, standing in the alley behind his building. He'd seen the man before – in almost the exact same spot as he was now – but the polymer cast around the man's left leg and the adhesive plaster on his forehead were new.

A trio of Pickford's Asian door "guards" stood facing the injured man, blocking his access to the door which Daniel had taken five days ago. This time, though, his men were armed with automatic pistols.

'How long's he been there?' Pickford asked.

'A little over an hour,' Luca said.

'He cause another fight?'

Luca shook his head. 'Nah, not this time. He's just been standing there lookin' up at the camera.'

'Almost as if he wants an invite,' Pickford muttered.

'You want me to tell them to get rid of him?'

'No. No sense in drawing any more attention than we need to. Let's see if he's still there this afternoon and then decide what to do about him.'

'What d'you think he wants?'

'Who can say?' Pickford replied, handing the plasma Tablet back to Luca. 'But I'd put short odds on it being somethin' to do with the kid.'

During his hour-and-a-half taxi ride out of London towards Buckingham, Daniel accessed the same schematic display system Pickford had used to show him Brinkley House's layout. This time, though, the holographic image coming from Daniel's mobile phone was of the PathGen labs six miles north-east of Bicester. Daniel paused as the building plans were displayed before him: This was the place where he was born.

Somewhere in those labs he took his first breath. And it was in that same building where he would have taken his last if Alan Cuthberts hadn't faked both their deaths.

The large, eight-storey building covered over twenty-thousand square metres of floor space and sat in its own isolated grounds on the Oxfordshire-Buckinghamshire border. A guard-post flanked either side of the entrance and access was secured by a three-metre-high metal gate which led onto a single, sweeping lane that cut its way through fields and woodland. The rest of the perimeter consisted of a high brick wall that wouldn't have looked out of place surrounding a maximum-security prison.

The advertising material on the PathGen website stated that, as well as manufacturing a number of proprietary pharmaceuticals, its main purpose was to conduct research into finding cures for the more resilient cancers. In addition to developing cures for some of the world's most infectious diseases – including the Ebola and Tunguska haemorrhagic fevers – PathGen also cited close links to USAMRIID; the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases.

PathGen claimed that it had made significant breakthroughs into finding cures for Alzheimer's as well as Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease – the degenerative brain disorder which was once called Mad Cow Disease – and was the world-leader in its field.

It was all a grand façade.

Daniel dipped his thumb and forefinger into the holograph and expanded the display ratio to get a clearer, more distinct view of each floor of the T-shaped building: the reception hall; meeting rooms; canteen; offices; research and development labs; the manufacturing suites; and, finally, the isolated top-floor rooms. The most recent addition to the building, according to the website, were the dual aspect Professor Alan Cuthberts wings – forming the cross piece of the building's "T" – in honour of the lead Director who died in the tragic accident of 2012.

The more he studied PathGen's security infrastructure the more it seemed to him that getting into Brinkley House was child's play in comparison: armed guards patrolled the entrance 24-hours a day; cameras watched every centimetre of perimeter wall and state-of-the-art measures were in place to prevent unauthorised access to the main building.

It took him half-an-hour to identify what appeared to be the weakest link in PathGen's security chain – such as it was – and less than another ten minutes to work out how he might exploit it. It was risky but that pretty much seemed to sum up his life this last week.

'I've got a change of destination,' Daniel called to the taxi driver. 'I need you to go to London-Oxford airport. Do you know it?'

The driver nodded. 'Just north of Kidlington, yeah? By the motorway?'

'That's the one.'

'Sure.' The driver changed the details on his SatNav and the amended route displayed on the small screen in the centre of the car's dashboard. Daniel contracted the holographic display on his phone, and smiled at what he saw: the PathGen labs lay on a direct line between Buckingham and the airport at Kidlington. Perfect.

He closed the display and called the number listed for the airport.

The doors to Dryden's private lift opened and Brennan stepped out onto Brinkley House's marble concourse. An adhesive pad covered the cuts to his nose and a brace, secured across his left knee, kept the leg straight. An egg-like lump bulged out of the side of his forehead. He held his right arm cupped against his chest, protecting what felt to him like broken ribs. A paramedic followed him out of the lift, trying to finish administering the pad over the Taser burn marks on Brennan's neck.

Brennan pushed the man away and limped the final few steps towards the E-M Pod. Even though the building's alarms had been silenced the amber, emergency lights continued to flash. Through the half-open doors he could hear voices – two of them the security guard and Tech Services engineer. Brennan eased himself through the Pod and stepped into the entrance hall. The security guard didn't even try to hide his grin upon seeing the state Brennan was in.

'What happened to you?' he asked. 'Fall down the stairs?'

'Hope you're still smiling when Control asks to see you,' Brennan replied.

The security guard's smile disappeared, replaced with a scowl. The Tech Service engineer turned his face to hide a smirk.

Brennan slapped his bio-reader pass-card over the digital scanner in the barrier and a turnstile clicked open. He shuffled through it and down the short flight of stairs heading towards the entrance doors, grunting with each step. He took out his phone.

'It's me,' he said, moving out onto the pavement. 'Bring the chopper back to the front.'

Brennan paused to hear Davis' reply.

'I don't give a toss about the traffic. Just come and pick me up.'

The Cessna T305 Crusader III's twin propeller engines powered up to full and the plane eased off the runway at London-Oxford airport, heading north. The late-afternoon sun glinted off its silver wings as it banked gently to the right and locked onto its heading co-ordinates. The plane quickly reached its cruising height of 2,500 metres.

Daniel sat in the seat next to the pilot; the strapping around his shoulders and waist secured with a central, circular disc on his chest. He wore a set of stylish headphones which had a thin microphone curling around to his mouth.

'So, have you been taking aerial pictures long?' the pilot turned to ask Daniel. He wore a similar pair of headphones. 'Only...' the pilot frowned, 'only you look kinda young, if you don't mind me saying.'

'It's for the school website,' Daniel smiled. 'This'll be my first.'

'Well I hope you've got a decent lens in that rucksack of yours, otherwise you might just as well have taken something off Google.'

'Trust me,' Daniel said glancing back into the cabin area of the plane and the small, black backpack that was supposed to have been used by the professor, 'I've got everything I need in there.'

Daniel took the phone out of his jacket and activated the GPS application. A small, moving red dot pulsed over a detailed display of the Oxfordshire countryside, and a counter at the bottom of the screen showed the decreasing distance between Daniel's current location and the PathGen labs. He glanced at the plane's air speed readout; it was holding steady at 165 knots. A quick mental calculation of the distance left, the speed and altitude of the plane gave him less than two minutes before he needed to act.

He released the clips holding him in place and took off the headphones.

'There's no hurry,' the pilot said. 'We won't be over Buckingham for at least five minutes. And I'll need to circle around to get in position for the University.'

Daniel picked the headphones back up and held the microphone to his mouth. 'Just need to make sure that I've got everything ready,' Daniel replied. 'I don't think I'd be very popular with the headmaster if I messed this up, considering how much it's costing.'

The pilot nodded. 'I guess not.'

Daniel rested the headphones on a hook next to the passenger seat, climbed through the gap between the seats and steadied himself in the cabin area. He'd spent a lot of time over the last week in airplanes but wasn't used to being in such a small one, particularly one that seemed to buck and rock with every suggestion of turbulence. He slipped the backpack on, clipped its buckle around his waist and tightened the shoulder straps. The display on his phone showed he had about thirty seconds. He pulled on the same fingerless leather gloves and sepia-tinted goggles that he wore on his jump from Brinkley House, and tucked his phone securely away inside his jacket.

The pilot turned in his seat. 'Hey, what are you doing?'

'Sorry about this,' Daniel said. He maneuvered the side door's release catch up and felt the first change in pressure.

'What the hell do you think you're doing?' the pilot yelled. 'You can't open that.'

'Thanks for the lift,' Daniel replied, 'but here's where I get off.' The wind rushing past the fuselage yanked the open door out of Daniel's hand and nearly pulled him out before he was ready.

Daniel gripped either side of the doorway and, as he dived through it into the air rushing passed, he was sure he heard the pilot say something about "the school hearing about this." He counted to three before pulling the backpack's red rip-cord, releasing an identical semi-rigid polymer chute, as before.

The kick he'd had from the Terry Llewellyn look-a-like in the New York dojo was nothing compared to the snap his body took as the chute caught in the air, and for a second he couldn't breathe. Even with the chute slowing his descent, he could feel his cheeks rippling as the air pushed against his face.

Above him the plane wheeled around and looked as if it was heading back towards Kidlington – its side door flapped on broken hinges, and Daniel hoped that it wouldn't make it difficult for the pilot to land. Daniel looked down – surprised that he didn't feel the same nausea he'd experienced when standing on the window ledge in Brinkley House – and saw that the countryside rushed up at him faster than he would have liked. He realised that he no longer needed the display on his phone to show him where to go: the PathGen labs were unmistakeable as there were no other buildings within two miles of the place. Besides, the large fountain outside the main entrance courtyard acted like a beacon as it sent a glistening jet of water ten metres into the air.

He adjusted the chute's toggles and veered himself towards PathGen's wide, flat roof, and its silver, vented air ducts set at ten metre intervals. At the northern tip of the roof – the far point of the "T" – lay a circular Heli-pad with an entrance porch and was the flattest, safest landing spot.

He was about a thousand metres from the Heli-pad when he noticed a truck driving along the entrance lane heading towards the building. This was always going to a risky approach – he was hardly inconspicuous and anyone glancing up from the building would easily spot him – but he was certain that anyone in the truck couldn't miss him.

He expected the vehicle to stop any moment with the driver getting out, pointing up at him, but it continued on its journey towards the labs. The lane looped around to the rear of the building – where the schematic programme had shown delivery loading bays – and if the vehicle followed it all the way then Daniel was sure, if he landed on the Heli-pad as planned, he'd be seen. He'd have to choose somewhere else.

So much for a safe landing.

Spotted or not there was nothing he could do about it and the most important thing for him to worry about, right at that moment, was getting his feet on solid ground without being hurt. He'd landed heavily in the jump from Brinkley House and if he messed this up then he was in no doubt he could be killed.

As the roof rushed towards him he tried to recall programmes he'd seen about parachuting – he had to slow his fall in the last hundred metres or so then pull down hard on both toggles about ten metres up to slow the rate of descent as much as possible. He should land with his legs together; absorbing the impact with his knees. And roll to the side, he remembered, not forward; knees together.

He was surprised how easy he found the toggle controls of the chute and the polymer responded to the slightest of his movements. Jumping from over two-thousand metres was a world away from leaping out of building at a little over twenty floors; the polymer chute obviously reacted best when having plenty of air beneath its canopy. He lost sight of the truck as he got to within fifty metres of the roof and despite his fear of being seen the space stayed empty, no committee waiting for him with guns raised, so perhaps his luck was still holding. Or maybe his adrenalin-fuelled body just hoped that it was.

Each of the central air duct vents looked like an inverted "J", with a slatted screen protecting their open end and stood proud of the roof by a metre-and-a-half. They shimmered as the sun glinted off their silver panelling. The schematic programme showed them each as being 0.75 metre square – wide enough for him to squeeze himself into – and led down into the heart of the building. He angled his approach to the left of them and the front edge of the roof – giving him a landing area of eight metres. At what he thought was about the right distance from the gravel of the roof he pulled hard on both toggles and, as the polymer chute trapped the maximum amount of air it could, Daniel felt as if he was almost lifted higher rather than still descending.

His boots hit the gravel with the lightest of touches, and he only needed three steps before coming to a halt. He removed his goggles, pulled the line and chute in before it could catch on one of the vents, and shucked off the backpack.

He let out a loud laugh. 'That was brilliant!'

He caught himself – aware of the noise he made and paused; listening, but the roof was still quiet. He carried the bundled chute back down to the first vent of the new wing. The holograph of the building hadn't provided any information about the top floor of the wing and Daniel knew that that lack of detail meant it was most likely home to Dryden's secret – and undoubtedly illegal – research. He also knew that if there were others like him then that was where they'd be.

He pulled out his phone and checked his position on the schematic programme. The screen showed that he'd had three missed calls from Eleanor. His finger hovered over the "return call" option, but decided that he needed his mind clear for what was about to happen. Besides, if it all went wrong then maybe it was better she didn't know exactly what he'd tried to do. Dryden clearly still saw her as a viable target and too many people close to him had already been hurt. And it was stupid really, he told himself; she was American and he'd only just met her. What did he think was going to happen between them?

His dad's words came back to him once more, Better safe than sorry. He deleted the message and activated the holograph.

Brennan limped down the metal steps from the roof, followed by Davis, and made his way along the corridor to his office. Lithgow appeared from one of the doorways, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, saw Brennan and let out a small laugh.

'Don't you dare,' Brennan growled.

'What happened?'

'It seems the kid kicked his arse,' Davis muttered to him after Brennan had disappeared into his office, slamming the door.

'What? Where?'

'Brinkley House. Tiberius broke in. He—' Davis nodded towards Brennan's closed door '—went in by himself, trying to be the hero I guess. Seems that they had a fight; the kid beat him up then Tasered him.'

Lithgow laughed again. 'Suddenly I'm glad that I'm a mushroom.'

Daniel removed the last of the screws holding the slatted grille from the vent and prised the panel away.

The vent curved away a short distance before dropping vertically into the building. The inner panelling meshed together with little overlap and it gave the surface a mirror-like smoothness. He'd have to wedge his back against one side and his boots against the opposite panel, lowering himself centimetre by centimetre. One slip though and he'd plummet all the way down to the sub-basement levels. Daniel pulled the back of his fingerless glove across his lips and climbed feet-first into the vent.

He was three metres down when he realised that he'd left the slatted grille by the base of the vent. He glanced up to the daylight above – he could go back to replace it, but what were the chances of anyone spotting it? He decided that it was worth the risk. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and carried on down, pressing his hands against the side wall of the vent and pushing with his feet to keep his back tight against the metal.

He could see a break in the venting a short way below – the silver panelling continued to go down but also branched off, horizontally, in four ways.

Oscar Kent's phone bleeped a warning alarm. He tucked the Tablet he carried under one arm, checked the phone's screen and gave a dismayed frown as he read the message it displayed. His pace quickened along the sterile eighth-floor corridor of the southern section of the Professor Alan Cuthberts wing as he headed towards his office.

He sat at his desk, activated the computer screen and watched the image of a cut-away section of the air vent as Daniel edged his way down. Beams of grey light cut diagonally across the vent at quarter-metre intervals, hidden in the eyes of the panelling rivets, invisible to Daniel in the half-light. The breaks in the security light created a composite 3-dimensional image of a person making their way down from the roof. Oscar picked up a phone and dialled the only number it could.

'Yes?'

'It's Oscar Kent, sir. I'm sorry to bother you but we have an incident at PathGen.'

Dryden gave the slightest of pauses before continuing. 'Go on.'

'A short while ago one of our delivery drivers reported someone parachuting over the grounds here, and security has found a discarded chute on the roof.' The irritated sigh prompted him to carry on. 'Two minutes ago the silent alarm in one of the air vents was activated. I'm watching someone climbing down towards the Claudius suite. It... it looks like a child, sir.'

There was a change in Dryden's voice. 'Seal the area and stand security down. Do nothing to alert him we know he's there. Carry on as you normally would. Track him, but tell no one else. I'm on my way.'

'Shouldn't I notify D-section?'

'No,' Dryden said. 'Keep them out of this. I'll deal with him personally.'

The line went dead before he could reply. 'Yes sir.'
CHAPTER 22

'What do you think I should've done?' Brennan yelled into his phone. 'Shoot him? I had my orders.' Davis and Lithgow watched through the window as Brennan limped around his office. He caught sight of them. 'Hold on.'

He glared at them as he moved to his desk and pushed a small button. The office windows turned opaque. He flopped down onto the chair. 'I followed my orders,' Brennan continued, in a lower volume, 'and tried to take him in one piece but he doesn't trust anyone now. Can you blame him?'

'What did you think Dryden was going to do to the old man?' Cross's voice came from the phone. 'The boy was never going to take it well. So... what do you think he'll do now?'

'Who can say? He might stay in the UK, go back to the States or he just might decide to lose himself somewhere else entirely. One thing's for sure: the professor's dead and he blames only one man. I know what I'd do if I were him.'

'Go after Dryden?'

Brennan paused. 'Yep.'

'The Top Brass aren't going to like that.'

'Then that's their problem.' Brennan popped open a bottle of pain-killers with his free hand and tipped several of them onto the desk. 'If they wanted a different outcome then they should've made a decision to act sooner once they knew the Tiberius file had been compromised.' He tossed the pills into his mouth and crunched them up, washing them down with a swig of cold coffee. 'I'll tell you one thing, though.'

'What's that?'

'The kid's not the kitten they all think he is.'

Daniel lay flat on his stomach, in a horizontal air vent and watched through a grille as a technician passed below, along a corridor that smelled of antiseptic.

He waited until the man's footsteps had faded before moving. It sounded as if the technician had keyed in a security code – eight different-pitched tones – followed by the noise of a door opening and closing. Daniel allowed a few more seconds of silence to pass before he prised the grille away; twisting and pulling it up inside the vent. He was just about to dip his head through the gap when he heard the thud of more footsteps. For a second he thought about replacing the grille but knew that if whoever was in the corridor would surely see the movement.

He paused, waiting for the person to pass by, but they never came. The thudding continued and Daniel swore at himself when he realised he was listening to the frantic beat of his own heart. He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down.

He edged his head through the gap in the vent and saw that the space below him was still empty. Each end of the fifteen-metre corridor finished with a solid-looking doorway, both had a glass viewing panel and a wall-mounted security key-pad. Six doors, three on each side of the corridor, branched off into what Daniel assumed were side rooms. The tiled-floor was over two metres below him with nothing that he could use as a step to help. It didn't take a genius to realise he wouldn't be able to get into the corridor and replace the grille; he'd have to leave it inside the vent. He was leaving too many clues as to where he was, where he'd been, but knew he had no other choice. He lowered himself through the gap and dropped as quietly as he could to the floor.

Coming from the darkened vent, the bright blue-tinted light of the corridor stung his eyes. The door behind him lead back into the main part of the building – its glass viewing panel at head height, with a keypad and bio-reader scanner to one side. The technician had taken the opposite direction and Daniel edged up to that door, twelve metres away. He'd heard the tones the technician keyed into the pad, so he was sure it wouldn't take him long to figure out the code, but the bio-reader was a different matter. He peered through the viewing panel, seeing that the corridor continued into the heart of the secret labs.

He moved back up to the nearest of the side doors in the wall and, on tip-toe, looked through into the room beyond. If the room in Brinkley House where the professor had been tortured seemed medieval in nature to Daniel, then what he saw now made him think it was something from the future.

The room was about four metres square and in the middle of it had a solitary figure strapped to a cloth-covered table. The figure looked like a man but he couldn't really be sure – it was deformed and twisted, with a head at least twice normal size. A series of bizarre-looking machines surrounded the man's head and were attached by numerous tubes and wires. Daniel pressed a hand to the door and felt the throb of machinery. A surge of electricity arced between the man and one of the machines, and although the door deadened the sound, he screamed causing Daniel to jump. The man arched his back and strained against the straps holding him in place, until the surge subsided.

Daniel moved to the five other side doors. Each room held a similar-looking individual. Were these the people the professor had meant? Were these six supposed to be what Dryden was attempting to perfect? The professor had said that the people Dryden was experimenting on were like Daniel, but he looked nothing like these unfortunates. Dryden must have more people hidden elsewhere on this level, and Daniel knew that he'd have to get through one of the end doors to find out.

But right now he felt like he was a rat caught in a trap.

The engines on Dryden's torpedo-shaped helicopter reached full power, the wheel locks released and the machine lifted gracefully into the air above Brinkley House. The pilot eased the throttle forward and the aircraft moved upwards at a steep angle.

'I expect you to set a new record,' Dryden said, turning to the pilot, 'for the time it takes to get between here and PathGen.'

'Yes, sir. Will do.'

'You can find yourself another job if you don't.'

The edge of the pilot's mouth twitched and he pushed harder on the throttle. 'Yes, sir. Understood.' The engine power output display on his bank of monitors reached 114%.

Dryden activated the secure Hermes programme on his phone and keyed in an encrypted message: Capture of Tiberius at PathGen imminent. Will report initial findings after primary surgery is complete. I trust that will satisfy the Board. GD

Daniel crouched by the foot of the door leading deeper into the research wing. The minutes he waited for anyone to come through felt like hours. If only he'd had stayed in the air vent then he could have by-passed this security door and gone straight to the heart of the floor, but there was no way he could climb back up to the open vent. He hoped that this would be the only mistake he made.

He jumped when the tones of the key-pad sounded from the other side of the door and he had to squeeze himself flat against the wall as the door opened towards him. A white-coated technician strolled into the corridor, consulting a Tablet, and let the door close behind him. Daniel thought about slipping through the closing door but knew he needed the bio-reader the technician carried, in case other security doors needed to be by-passed. The technician paused at the nearest side door, looked through the viewing panel and made a note on his Tablet.

He keyed a sequence of numbers into the pad next to the door – the same tones he'd used to open the end door – and pushed the thick, white door open. The sound of medical machinery coming from the room was drowned out by the scream of the man strapped to the table. Daniel was on the technician in a flash. He jabbed the man in the side of the neck and bundled him into the room.

The man gave a brief cry of surprise and crumpled to the hard floor, his Tablet skittering away. Daniel pushed the door closed then checked that the technician was unconscious. He snatched his bio-reader from the man's white coat and scooped up the Tablet.

Now that he was in the room he could see the man on the table more clearly – tubes ran from the machines into the back of his scalp, just like as they had with the professor. The man's elongated and distorted head was a mesh of scars; they looked like old surgical wounds which had been stitched, crudely, back together. It looked like he was an early attempt at a Frankenstein monster.

Another spear of electricity arced from one of the machines to a silver-coloured collar around the man's neck. His scream made Daniel jump and the man strained once more against the straps that held him tight. A pulse of pinkish liquid made its way from the man's head along a clear plastic tube and the electricity stopped. Daniel watched as the fluid emptied into a sealed glass beaker – from the amount already collected he guessed that the man must have been enduring this torture for hours.

The man's eyes flicked open and latched onto Daniel's with a clarity that surprised him. For long moments the man stared at him. He opened his mouth but no words came from his dry lips. 'Please,' the man eventually whispered.

Daniel moved to his side. 'I'll... I'll come back for you,' he said, holding the man's hand. 'I'll come back for all of you. I promise.'

The man gripped Daniel's hand, nearly crushing it with a strength that surprised him. 'No!' The man gasped. 'Please...' He licked his lips. 'Please let me die.'

'What?'

'Let me die.'

'I... No, I can't.'

Tears welled up and fell from the man's eyes. 'Please? You must.'

Daniel pulled away from his grip and backed-up towards the door. The man watched him move away and tried to form more words from his dry mouth.

'I will come back for you,' Daniel repeated.

He opened the door and darted into the corridor, the man's screeching "Please" cut short as the door sealed tight. Daniel closed his eyes, steeled himself, now more resolved than ever to end Dryden's reign of torture. He swiped the bio-reader across the scanner by the door and keyed in the code the technician had used.

Twenty kilometres out from the PathGen labs Dryden's helicopter's engine warning lights flashed red, but still the pilot kept the throttle at its highest point. With ten kilometres to go the Master Alarm warning started to sound, and flooded the cockpit with an ear-piercing whoop, whoop, whoop. A matching red light pulsed above the pilot.

He switched them both off but several more alarms took their place. He glanced over his right hand shoulder and saw that they were leaving a trail of black smoke. More alarms started to sound until the display panel in front of him was lit up like a Christmas tree. The throttle control juddered in his hand and the automated "distress warning" voice activated; repeatedly stating that the helicopter was in imminent danger of stalling and that throttle power should be reduced to a safe level. The pilot silenced everything, gritted his teeth and fought to steady the joystick.

He angled the aircraft down at a sharp angle; approaching the wide Heli-pad on top of the PathGen building at breakneck speed. At the last moment he corrected the angle of descent – turning the four engine vents to face down – and cut the air-speed to near zero. He brought the helicopter to a bouncing halt on the edge of the northern wing's Heli-pad. He activated the wheel locks and cut the engine but the mechanics housed behind him continued to whine and complain about what they'd been forced to endure.

Dryden glanced at his watch and pursed his lips in a sneer. 'Congratulations,' he muttered as he opened the door. 'You still have a job. Wait here.'

The sterile, brightly-lit corridors were eerily quiet, except for the ever-present hum of electricity, as Daniel made his way deeper into the Wing. The information on the technician's Tablet showed him where he needed to go; the main room with a dozen test subjects – labelled as the Claudius programme – lay at the far end of the wing.

He passed four more side rooms but these contained a number of other white-coated technicians, using research equipment on aluminium benches. To Daniel these rooms looked more like what he thought of as a typical lab. Two more secure doors blocked his way to the Claudius room. He swiped the stolen bio-reader across the scanner, entered the same eight numbers he'd used before and eased the penultimate door open. The door to the Claudius room blocked the corridor eight metres away. This was it; the end of the road.

Daniel took a breath, steadied his nerves and stepped up to the door's viewing panel.

The room beyond covered the entire width of the Wing. The room was bathed with blue-tinted light and, dotted around the perimeter, frosted windows let in diffused daylight. But Daniel's eye was drawn to the twelve gurney-like beds half way into the room facing the door and spread in a semi-circle.

On each of the beds lay an unconscious young boy or girl – six of each – their heads shaved, and with a green sheet draped across most of their body; they looked to be no older than eleven or twelve. A metallic pad on each of their temples pulsed with a violet light. Banks of monitors and medical equipment were arrayed behind each gurney.

Daniel swiped the bio-reader across the scanner and keyed in the eight numbers. Magnetic locks released and the heavy door clicked open. A release of oxygen-rich air escaped into the corridor as he pushed it inwards. He stepped nervously into the room, closing the door behind him, and laid the Tablet on top of the closest monitor. With slow steps he approached the unconscious forms. The children's chest's rose and dipped in unison, as if they were all on a fixed life-support system. Across each head – in an identical spot – Daniel noticed that they had a five centimetre scar, but unlike the Frankenstein man he'd just met their wounds had been neatly sewn back together.

He ran a hand across the back of the head of the child on the end gurney and found a familiar thick tube, leading away to one of the monitors. He dipped to his knees to get a better look and saw that the tube had been grafted into the back of the child's head. A quick check told him that the other eleven had a similar tube running into the back of their head. A brutal, full-frontal attempt to free the professor of such a tube resulted in his death, so Daniel decided to try a different tactic. If he couldn't free the victim from the tube then perhaps he could free the tube from the monitor.

A cursory inspection of the nearest monitor suggested that he wasn't likely to be able to do that either – the tube ran into the lower part of the machinery, and there was no visible access panel to open to see where it went from there. The plates of the monitor fitted seamlessly together so there wasn't any way he could try and prise them apart. And if he just tried pulling the tube from the monitor then he'd be relying on brute strength and he knew that hadn't worked before.

Perhaps the answer was much simpler, perhaps if he woke them up they might be able to free themselves?

'Hello?' he called to the girl on the end. 'Can you hear me?'

The girl's chest continued to rise and fall as it had before.

He leaned in closer to her ear. 'Hello!' he called louder. 'Can you hear me?'

Nothing, not even a flicker came from her closed eyes.

Daniel wiped his mouth and chin. He had to think of something. There had to be a way of freeing them from the tubes. There might be a release programme on the monitor. He inspected the array of buttons and switches – some were coded with mathematical symbols, some weren't labelled at all. Panic started to grow in his stomach – his plan, such as it was, ended when he walked into the room – now he was just winging it. He had to do something. He changed switch positions on the monitor.

A red light flashed on each of the monitors and the unmistakably familiar wail of an alarm began to sound.

The blue-tinted light dimmed and was taken over by amber light which flashed in the corners of the room. With a hiss a barely visible gas entered the room from hidden ceiling ports and sounded over the bleep of the machines. Daniel took a deep breath and tried once more to free the nearest of the unconscious forms from the thick tube, but to no avail. It was just as fixed as had the one which had been attached to the professor.

The twelve unconscious children began to simultaneously convulse, as though each were having some kind of seizure. Daniel took the shoulders of the girl nearest to him, trying to wake her up but stopped dead when her body relaxed, and he saw blood seeping from the edges of her ears and nose. He looked to the others – each of them had stopped convulsing and they were also bleeding from their eyes, ears, nose or mouth.

Each of the monitor's behind the children started to emit a constant, high-pitched tone. Daniel pressed a finger to the girl's neck, searching for a pulse but there was none to be found. The gas, or the system controlling their breathing, had killed them all. He'd failed, and now everyone in the building knew he was there.

He ran to the door, punched in the number sequence but the magnetic locks didn't release. He pulled on the handle the door remained fixed. He keyed in the eight-digit sequence once more and pulled harder on the door, but still it wouldn't budge. Try as he might to hold his breath longer, he had to take in more air. He released what air was left in him and gulped in a quick lungful. He nearly gagged as the bitter, acrid sting of the gas hit his throat.

The clack of Dryden's heels on the hard corridor floor, mixed with the stern expression on his face, was enough to make anyone in his way ensure they moved out of it double-quick. The only thing to cause him to slow his pace was the warning bleep of his phone. He checked the message and then his fast walk turned into a run.

'I'm in the building,' he said into the phone. 'Keep him contained and away from them if you can. I'll be with you in less than a minute.'

He barked at the white-coated workers to open the doors ahead of him as he raced towards the southern wing, and to Daniel.

His bio-reader opened the security door leading to the southern wing research level without the need for him to key any numbers into the pad. He stepped into the ten-metre long "air-lock" chamber, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The door sealed tight with magnetic locks, an amber warning light came on and a pale blue gas flooded the small chamber, killing any bacteria present on his clothes.

After ten seconds the amber light changed to pale green and hidden fans in the chamber wall activated, sucking out the anti-bacterial gas. Dryden swiped his bio-reader across the scanner on the far door and hardly needed to glance up to see the missing vent grille halfway along the corridor. He pace didn't falter as he headed deeper into the Wing.

Dryden opened the last door before the Claudius room to find Oscar Kent, along with a trio of other technicians, clustered around the viewing panel each trying to snatch a glance of the intruder. Daniel sat, perched on the edge of one of the gurneys; his head low and his shoulders dipped. The amber flashing light pulsed out through the small window.

'He was messing with the machinery,' Oscar said, making space for Dryden to reach the door. 'The central safety protocols activated before I could stop him, or them. We have no choice but to let the cycle complete before acting.'

Dryden frowned, as if he couldn't make sense of what he was being told and what he saw through the viewing window. 'Hasn't the gas been deployed?'

'It most certainly has.'

'And he's still alive?'

'Yes sir.'

'Is there a malfunction in the system?'

Oscar shook his head. 'That's the first thing I checked,' he said, referring to the information displayed on his Tablet. 'The fail-safe's working exactly as designed. I don't understand it either, sir; he should be dead. The Claudius subjects were all terminated in less than a minute.'

'Interesting.' Dryden pressed a small red button next to the keypad. 'Hello, Daniel.' His voice boomed out through hidden speakers in the room beyond the door. 'So glad you could join us.'

Daniel looked up. Even over the sound of the alarm he recognised the voice. His eyes hardened when he saw the man's smiling face through the window. 'Dryden.'

Daniel's voice came out clear and crisp in the corridor.

'Sorry I missed you earlier,' Dryden said, 'in London. But at least we have the opportunity to talk now. Although, in truth, I'm surprised to see that you're still breathing, let alone capable of speech.'

Daniel moved up to the door and came as close as he ever had to the man who had been responsible for the deaths of his loved ones. 'Then why don't you come in here and talk to me.'

'Wish that I could. However, once you tried to remove one of them—' he nodded at the twelve dead children '—from the system the fail-safe cycle activated and not even I can open the door until the protocols have finished.'

Dryden released the red intercom button and turned to Oscar. 'Alright, everyone out,' he muttered.

'Sir?'

'Out,' Dryden repeated. 'Now! Get yourselves back through that door. Leave him to me.'

'Yes sir.'

Oscar signalled for the other three technicians to move back down the corridor and waited for the last of them to pass through the security door before closing it.

Dryden, his composure now regained, pressed the intercom button once more. 'Now it's just the two of us.'

Daniel glanced over his shoulder. 'Just the fourteen of us, you mean.'

'Fourteen? I think that you're getting confused between people and experimental material. They're lab rats, Daniel; nothing more.'

'They aren't lab rats!'

'They're dead lab rats now, at that. There isn't any difference between them and something that's grown in a Petri dish. They were grown to be experimented on.'

'They're people, just like me.'

Dryden gave a thin laugh. 'What a strange concept. I wonder who ever gave you that idea. You're not a person, Daniel. You're an experiment gone wrong.'

Daniel keyed the eight numbers into the pad and pressed the door release again, but no matter how hard he tugged on the handle the door remained sealed. He let out a cry of frustration and smear of blood oozed from the corner of his right eye. He wiped it away.

'Ah,' Dryden cooed. 'I see that the gas is finally starting to have some effect on you. About time. It's a weaponised mix of codeine and cyanide, if you're interested, spliced with a touch of the Tunguska haemorrhagic fever.' He waved a finger at Daniel. 'That'll be the bleeding, you're experiencing. The gas has a long, technical name, which I won't bother to bore you with, but the lab boys who developed it have rather jokingly termed it their Very Dirty Martini. Strange sense of humour they have. I'm told that the cyanide gives it a rather pleasant aroma of almonds, though. What do you think?'

'I think you should open the door and try it for yourself.' He blinked and blood seeped from his eye.

Dryden smirked. 'I really am going to have to disappoint you there. You see, what's in that room is just too sensitive to be allowed to get out. One of the primary tenets of research like this is: It's better to let some experiments die than let them reach the outside world. By the way, how did you ever think you were going to get out with them?'

'I—' A stabbing pain shot through Daniel's chest, cutting his words short.

'Did you imagine that you'd just simply walk them out through the front door?'

'I hadn't thought. I mean –'

'Or perhaps you were going to get them crawling through the air vents?' Dryden interrupted. 'And then what? Even assuming that you managed to get them outside, what would you do then; call for a cab?' He laughed. 'You're pathetic. Even Alan Cuthberts had a plan when he snatched you. And, to be honest, he did me a favour. The damage he caused enabled me to re-vamp the facilities here. I doubt I could've achieved all that I have if it hadn't been for him. I'm not sure I told him that before you killed him.'

'You killed him, you mean.'

'I beg to differ. He was very much alive when I left him. You killed him when you broke into Brinkley House. You really must learn to take responsibility for your actions, young man.'

'You killed him like you've killed everyone close to me.'

Dryden gave a moment's pause. 'I haven't killed that little American girl yet.'

'Don't you dare touch her!' A trickle of blood escaped from his nose.

'Or you'll do what?'

'I swear that if you hurt her –'

'Listen to yourself, Daniel. Your threats are ridiculous. There's nothing you could do to me, even if you weren't dying.'

'I might not be able to do anything but when people find out what's been going here, they will. When they do, you'll be closed down and pay for your crimes.'

'Crimes? What crimes? Are you really so naïve to actually think that I'd ever enter into a programme like this without a "get out of jail free" card? Let me tell you a truth, Daniel,' Dryden smiled. 'The people who you seem to think that would be so horrified by what I've done here wouldn't even bat an eye-lid.'

Dryden held his forefinger and thumb a few millimetres apart. 'I'm that close to ending Alzheimer's and CJD for good. Do you think that all those millions of sufferers would really be concerned about how a cure was reached? Or would they and their families just fall to their knees, grateful that the torment was over and thanking God for what Gregory Dryden has done for them?'

'You don't care about finding cures,' Daniel said. Another stabbing pain shot through his chest. 'You want the money. You want the power.'

Dryden smiled again and shrugged his shoulders. 'Okay, so you've got me. But – just between us – the whole cure thing sounds altogether more altruistic, don't you think?'

'If we all die then it's over for you.' Daniel coughed and his lips became smeared with blood. 'I get them out of here or we all die; the result's the same: you lose.'

'Lose? Lose?' Dryden laughed again. 'Listen to me, Daniel, because this is very important. Do you really think that those twelve are the sum result of sixteen years of research? Please. There are plenty more Claudius subjects and I'm more than ready to move onto the Nero phase, so I have no worries there. And the thing I need from you – the one small piece that I haven't been able to replicate all these years – I can just as easily get from your corpse as from your living body.

'Your DNA might make you more resilient – and trust me I'll have a look at it in detail later – but it isn't anything special, not really.' He tapped his head. 'But your brain is. You remember everything you see and hear, don't you? It's called Eidetic Memory, as I'm sure you already know. That's what I'm after. Any money that'll be generated from the cures we've developed as by-products of our DNA programmes – and we're talking billions, here – will pale into insignificance from the prospect of harnessing the intelligence gene. Now how much do you think people will pay for that?

'Just think of the control the person who wielded that sort of technology could exert. After all, knowledge is power as the saying goes. Once the effects of the gas have left your body I'll simply cut out what I need from your head.'

Tears welled up in Daniel's eyes and fell in red streams.

'Was it worth it, Daniel?' Dryden continued. 'All this effort, all this running around, over the last week? Think of all the people who've been effected because of you: Alan Cuthberts, those people who pretended to be your parents, that American girl. The end result was only ever going to have one outcome. You've just made it easier for me by coming here.'

Daniel staggered back into the nearest gurney as another spasm gripped him. He coughed once more and a splatter of blood spread across the tiled floor. The blood seeping from his eyes and nose gathered in intensity.

'This...' He coughed more blood. 'This isn't over.'

He took a step but slipped on the blood-splattered floor and fell to his knees. He took two painful, ragged breaths then collapsed and lay still. His final breath caused bubbles to form on the bloody floor.

Dryden released the intercom button but his eyes never left Daniel's body. 'It was over for you sixteen years ago,' he whispered. 'You just didn't know it.'
CHAPTER 23

Dryden barely blinked as he watched the final minutes of the Extermination process finish in the Claudius room – ten minutes had been determined as the optimal death time, despite the high toxicity of the poisonous gas. The system stopped pumping the barely visible Very Dirty Martini gas into the room and there was a faint change in sound as the extraction fans activated; sucking out the deadly gas through a series of filter and neutralisation processes. A minute later the amber lights changed to green, the blue-tinted room lights brightened and finally there was an audible click as the magnetic locks on the door released.

Dryden glanced over his shoulder and saw through the viewing panel in the other door that Oscar was practically hopping in his eagerness to move back up to him. Dryden gave the slightest of nods and Oscar moved forward, the trio of other technicians following him like a line of ducklings.

'What would you like done with...' Oscar indicated towards the Claudius room, 'with the bodies?'

'Where do we normally move the contaminated material? Take them to the secure area in the morgue, of course.'

'Yes sir. Sorry.'

'Bag them up and get them isolated until the residue's left their system. Keep Tiberius separate from the others and get the duty pathologist to notify me when he's ready to start cutting.' Dryden turned away from the door and started moving back down the corridor. 'I wouldn't want to miss that.'

'Yes sir,' Oscar repeated as Dryden reached the other door, 'of course.'

Oscar tapped on his Tablet; notifying the Haz-Mat Team that he needed thirteen body bags and a secure transfer from the Claudius room to the morgue in the sub-basement.

One of the Asian men standing between Cross and the metal door, the one whose neck was as wide as Cross's waist, held a finger to one ear and tilted his head a little. From the expression on the man's face Cross could tell he was being given an order. Maybe they'd tired of him being there? He wasn't in any mood – or condition – for a fight, but he wasn't prepared to just walk away. Or limp away, as the case may be. His leg ached and he'd lost the sensation in his toes below the cast half an hour ago.

The Asian man muttered something in response to the message, holstered his automatic pistol and beckoned Cross to come closer. 'You packin'?'

Cross shook his head as he moved forward. 'Be pretty dumb if I was, don't you think?'

'Yeah, I do. But you'd be surprised.' The Asian beckoned for Cross to raise his arms.

Cross did as he was told, wincing as he took the weight on his broken leg. The man patted him down, searching for any hidden weapons. He didn't find any.

'What about your leg?'

'Yeah, I've got an assault rifle tucked down there.'

The Asian man's face remained blank.

'It's a joke,' Cross added. 'Scan me, if you like.'

The Asian nodded. He pulled out a cell phone from his jacket and tapped the screen, activating the phone's X-ray app. 'Keep still.'

He held the phone close to Cross's leg and moved it slowly along the length of the cast. The screen showed a pale-blue image of Cross's bones, along with several pins and screws holding the tibia together, but no other inconsistencies.

'Okay,' the man said. 'Come on.' He turned and banged three times on the metal door. The sound of a bar being drawn back came from inside and it swung open. 'The crutch stays here.'

Cross scowled at him and reluctantly handed over his crutch. The other men blocking Cross's way parted for him to move through. He half-limped, half-hopped through the open doorway, acknowledged the skinny man standing on the other side then groaned as he saw the concrete steps leading down into the dank and gloom. He popped open the vial of pills the hospital had given him and swallowed three of the small, yellow tablets.

He was dripping with sweat by the time he'd gone through the security door at the bottom of the steps. He popped several more into his mouth and followed the same man-mountain of a guard who'd escorted Daniel, along the modern corridor.

'The Boss is in there,' the guard said. 'He's told me to stay out here but believe me: I can move a lot quicker than you think I could. Any funny business and you'll need casts over every part of you. You get me?'

'Crystal,' Cross replied. 'I'm not here for a fight.'

'Damn right you're not.'

The guard knocked on the door to Pickford's room then made his way back down the corridor.

'Yeah, come in,' Pickford called.

Cross wiped the sweat away from his face and opened the door to find Luca standing by the perspex table with his arms folded across his chest. The beginning of a tear glistened in the big man's eye. Cross moved into the room.

'This your place?' he asked as he took in the equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Nah,' Pickford muttered, his small body hidden behind Luca's bulk. Luca stepped to one side. 'It's mine.'

Cross took a step closer and Luca mirrored his movement, blocking his way with an out-stretched hand.

'I'm not here for trouble,' Cross said. 'I'm –'

'Here about the kid,' Pickford interrupted. He rested his good arm on the perspex table and looked at the floor. 'Yeah, I guessed as much. It's okay, Luca.'

Luca took another step to the side.

'I know you helped him when he was here the other day,' Cross continued, keeping his eyes on Pickford. 'You gave him the phone, right?'

Pickford remained looking at the floor. 'Just what is it you want, exactly?'

Luca puffed out his chest and clenched his fists, cracking his knuckles.

'It's a long story and I don't have a lot of time,' Cross continued. 'Look, I'm sorry about what happened before. Your men were a little too keen to move me on.'

'Looks like someone moved you on pretty good, all the same,' Luca said.

Cross gave a faint laugh. 'Yeah. Another long story. I'm not your enemy, okay? I'm not Daniel's enemy either.' Cross's smile faded and his demeanour became more serious. 'Some people are after him. I was sent over here to keep an eye on him and –'

'You're too late,' Pickford interrupted him.

'I know that he's gone back in England,' Cross continued, 'but the thing is he doesn't realise how much danger he's in. He's –'

'Are you having trouble understandin' what I'm sayin', or somethin'?' Pickford interrupted him again. He eventually looked up. 'You're too late.' He took a deep breath. 'He's dead.'

Cross paused for a moment as the words sunk in. 'What?'

Pickford turned to Luca. 'Seriously, am I speakin' a different language here?' He looked back to Cross and spoke like he was talking to a child. 'He's dead.'

'What would make you think that?'

'I just know, okay?'

'No it's not okay. How do you know?'

'What does it matter? I just do.' Pickford wiped away a tear. 'He died about a quarter of an hour ago.'

Cross glanced at Luca and understood the cause of the glistening in the big man's eyes. If their body language was anything to go by then the two Americans were genuinely upset. Cross noticed Pickford's phone sitting behind the small man on the perspex table; its screen was flashing red. Realisation came to him. 'You synched him up with a haema-tag?'

Pickford shrugged his shoulders. 'So what if I did?'

Cross frowned. 'Just who the hell are you?'

'I'm a business man that was tryin' to look after a client,' Pickford yelled. 'Okay? Some job I did.'

'This is important,' Cross said moving closer to Pickford. 'Tell me exactly what happened.'

The morgue complex covered the whole of the northern wing's foot-print, set three storeys below ground level and access to it only allowed to a privileged few. The development labs may well have been where the PathGen research was conducted, but it was within the series of rooms that comprised the morgue where that research was fully analysed.

A series of morticians wheeled the twelve gurneys containing the Claudius children from a wide service elevator into a broad, sterile cold-room that looked more like an industrial fridge than part of a morgue. Each body was held in its own black zip-locked bag, with a crudely written C# written in red on one corner followed by a number to identify each corpse. The maroon-suited form of Gregory Dryden, standing next to his private lift at the end of the corridor, watched the morticians go about their business.

The cold-room's creamy white walls were punctuated with a series of gun-metal grey hatches at waist height. The morticians – each dressed in an orange, germ-free environment suit – opened a dozen of the hatches, revealing a coffin-shaped hole behind every one, going back into the wall. They pulled out a sliding rack from the holes and placed the bodies into one of the spaces. After the bodies had been pushed back into the wall they slammed the hatches shut.

All but one of the morticians then pushed the gurneys out of the room as the last one recorded the location of each of the Claudius children into a Tablet.

Daniel lay on another gurney sealed in an identical black zip-locked bag as the other twelve children, but the top left hand corner his bag held the T#1 moniker. An orange-clad mortician pushed Daniel's gurney past the room holding the Claudius children and followed the corridor to a door leading into the furthest corner of the morgue. He entered a ten-digit sequence into a keypad and pressed his suit-held bio-reader against the scanner. The door opened into another "air-lock" chamber. Once past the second, inner door the mortician pushed Daniel into a clear, polymer cell in the middle of the room.

The cell had tubes running up from the floor to its uppermost four corner which ended flush against the top. Sitting in the centre of the cell was an oblong plinth, with drainage channels running along its length. The mortician moved Daniel alongside the plinth, heaved him onto it and un-zipped the bag.

Trails of blood showed from Daniel's closed eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and pooled against the back of his head.

The mortician maneuvered Daniel off the bag, closing the zip back up. He placed it back on the gurney then wheeled it outside the cell and closed the door. He tapped on a display panel by the door and set the programme to deliver the pre-determined three percent mix of chemicals that would counter the effects of the haemorrhagic fever. He activated the system and a number sequencer started counting down from sixty minutes. The tubes running into each corner started to pump a white gas into the cell.

The technician then slid Daniel's body-bag into a wall-mounted incinerator, returned to the "air-lock", and initiated the de-com programme. He nodded to Dryden.

Dryden turned and pressed his manicured thumb onto the encoder pad by his lift's doors. After a moment the doors glided open and he stepped into the polished metal box.

'Eight.'

The doors closed silently and the lift ascended using the identical inertia-free drive system as the one in Brinkley House. Seven seconds later the lift doors opened into a small lobby area which led onto Dryden's opaque, glass-fronted office. He pressed his thumb against another encoder pad and a set of glass doors opened. His suite was just as austere as his office in London, except for one difference; this room held a tall, metal seven-drawer filing cabinet to the side of his desk.

The phone buzzed in his jacket. He winced when he saw who the call was from. 'Margaret. It's been ages. I was beginning to miss your voice.'

'I got your message.'

He moved through the office and sat at his desk, taking his time to reply. 'Good.'

'So you have him?'

Dryden paused a fraction to emphasise the importance of his words. 'I do.'

'Was that before or after he triggered the Claudius fail-safe? Afterwards, I'm guessing. I do hope that your heavy-handed methods haven't damaged him beyond being useful.'

'You know as well as I do that the protocols are designed to leave the brain intact so, please, save your sarcasm. The important thing is that I have him in custody.'

'And in the process you managed to lose a significant amount of material.'

'There's no need to wet your pants, Margaret. Twelve is hardly a significant number. And besides, there's no real harm done.'

'Apart from the fact that it would seem the two main locations under your direct authority are about as secure as my youngest's piggy-bank.'

'The important thing,' Dryden replied, his voice hardening, 'is that the matter has been resolved. Isn't that what the Board wanted?'

'I suppose.'

'Then back off.'

Margaret paused for a moment. 'My, my, Gregory. You do seem agitated. Perhaps this is all getting a bit too much for you?'

'Just remember who it is you're talking to.'

'Oh, I do. I'm only relaying what the Board are thinking.'

'Then relay this to them: tell them to let me do my job. They'll have what they want by the end of the day. Surgery on Tiberius will begin as soon as his system has been flushed of the haemorrhagic contamination. I'm going to oversee the operation myself. Believe me, within two hours he'll be nothing more that meat on a butcher's slab.'

The first change happened deep within the mitochondrial membrane of Daniel's eukaryotic cells. The cyanide molecule strands were stripped from the protein particles and the previously overwhelmed immunoglobulin antibodies finally had the opportunity to neutralise the foreign material.

The next modification came in the endothelial cells lining his blood vessels. Destroyed cells were generated anew through mitosis and the damaged ones repaired themselves. The platelets re-formed, allowing normal coagulation, and halted the seepage of blood. The narcotic effects of the codeine were neutralised and the opiate flushed from his system. His adrenal gland activated, producing high levels of epinephrine, and the newly-cleaned blood vessels carried the effect throughout his lifeless body.

The hormone acted like a defibrillator on his heart.

Similar to a car trying to start on a freezing winter's morning, his heart juddered into life.

'So, I'm thinkin' that you don't need to be here anymore,' Pickford said, looking up at Cross. 'Given the fact that you don't need to be here anymore.'

Luca took a step forward.

'Okay, okay,' Cross said holding his hands up. He limped towards the door. 'It's a shame that this couldn't have turned out differently. I wish that it had.'

'Yeah,' Pickford muttered. 'You an' me both.'

Cross was halfway through the doorway when Pickford's phone started bleeping. Cross glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the screen now flashed green.

Pickford grabbed the phone and held it before him. 'I don't believe it.' His eyes went saucer wide. 'I don't believe it.'

'Does that mean what I think it means?' Cross asked, turning back into the room.

Pickford nodded but didn't take his eyes off the screen. 'It's impossible.' He looked up to face Cross. 'He was dead. He was dead.'

Cross limped across to Pickford, who held up his phone so that Cross could see. The screen showed various life-sign displays – heart rate, blood pressure, brain activity. It also displayed the twelve-digit GPS location of Daniel's whereabouts.

'It's impossible,' Pickford repeated.

Cross pulled his phone from his jacket and tapped its screen. He rapped his fingers nervously against the cast on his leg as he waited for Brennan to answer. 'Come on, come on.'

The call clicked through. 'What?'

'There's been a development.'

Daniel's eyelids fluttered; the first outward sign that life had returned. His chest rose slightly, held for a moment then dipped. His mouth opened and he drew in a rasping, urgent breath of air. His first breath felt like swallowing shards of broken glass.

Almost as soon as his lungs filled Daniel curled up on the plinth, wracked with a violent coughing fit. Yellow bile forced its way from between his lips and he let it drip onto the sterile floor until the fit had ceased. He drew in more lungful's of air – it had the faint tang of ammonia – but with each one his breathing eased.

Daniel looked at his hands; they were covered in blood, and he turned them around trying to comprehend what had happened. He sat up on the plinth, inspected the perspex box surrounding him and noticed the thin, white gas coming in from each high corner.

'Time to get out of here, I think,' he muttered swinging his legs off the plinth. 'Wherever here is.'

He pushed himself off the plinth and wobbled a little as his legs took his weight. He stepped up to the doorway and halted – wide-eyed – as he caught sight of his reflection. It wasn't the fact that he still had all of his belongings that made him pause; it was the expression in his eyes. They seemed more haunted than before; somehow distant and remote. The trails of blood across his face and his tangled mass of dark, blood-matted hair did little to lessen the effect.

Daniel stared back at his reflection and he knew, deep down, that he'd made a decision.

For all of this to end then Dryden had to die.
CHAPTER 24

Daniel inspected the door in the polymer cell; it looked as if it was more designed to stop people from getting in rather than preventing anyone getting out. It only took him a few seconds to prise the hinge pins up and push the door open.

He darted through into the wider, empty room and took several deep breaths of the clean air. To his right sat a large, metal sink against the wall with a mirror above it. He ran the water, washed his hands free of dried blood then splashed water over his face and head. He pulled several pale-green paper towels from a dispenser next to the sink and wiped away the dripping, red water. He managed to clear away the majority of the blood but his skin had been tinted a pale rose.

He looked like some sort of mad devil.

'Well,' he muttered, 'that might not be such a bad thing.'

He tossed the paper towels into a bin and walked up to the air-lock. He searched through his satchel – his phone and the stolen bio-reader were still there. Dryden and his people must have been so scared of the contamination caused by the deadly gas, that they were too afraid to take anything from him. He activated the A.I. and security hack programmes, searching for the appropriate PathGen network which would detail the security digit sequence he needed. A ten-digit number appeared on the screen.

He wiped the bio-reader free of blood, swiped it through the scanner and entered the numbers into the pad. The door clicked open. He repeated the process on the second door and stepped into a wider, open space. The corridor ahead of him was empty.

He quickly walked past the room holding the Claudius children and up to a very familiar-looking lift door, knowing that Dryden's office would be at the end of it. He glanced back the way he'd come. Above the archway he saw the word "Morgue". His lips tightened and he nodded slowly to himself, acknowledging what must have happened. The realisation strengthened his resolve and determination.

He pulled the same small, poly-ceramic unit he used to access the lift at Brinkley House from his satchel and was about to hold the unit up to the encoder pad when he heard the sound of footsteps coming towards him, along the corridor.

He darted back around the corner and waited for the footsteps to get closer – there was only one person; a man, if the heavy tread was anything to go by.

Seconds later a technician rounded the corner, his head bent over a Tablet reading the screen. Daniel swiped the man's legs from under him. The technician fell to the floor, dropping the Tablet, but rolled away quicker than Daniel had expected. Daniel lunged for him but the man pushed his hands away and reached for a large red push-button on the wall. If the alarm was pressed then Daniel knew Dryden wouldn't make the same mistake twice; he'd kill him for sure if he had another chance.

Daniel grabbed the man's trailing leg and pulled him back. A lightning-quick fist smacked into the technician's chest and he crumpled with the sound of snapping ribs. Daniel followed up with a two-fingered jab to the man's neck. He fell like a dead-weight.

Daniel paused; looking back down the main corridor, waiting to make certain that there was no one else. The space was empty. Daniel took hold of the technician's feet and dragged him to the closest doorway. He opened the door of the cold-room holding the dead Claudius children and dumped the unconscious man inside. He was about to toss the man's Tablet in with him but stopped as a thought came to him. A smile creased his lips as he knew what he had to do; the irony of the thought making him laugh. He quietly closed the cold-room door then accessed the Tablet's building schematics.

The details he sought only had three layers of security protection, and within a minute he'd identified all the information he needed. Daniel moved passed Dryden's lift and headed further along the corridor with a skip in his step, going deeper into the building.

'This is crazy,' Davis said as he watched Brennan limp up the steps leading to the roof. 'Are you sure you don't want me to fly you?'

'No, not this time,' Brennan replied.

Davis leaned an elbow on the stair rail. 'Okay. What's going on?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that you haven't been yourself these last few days. I'm not stupid; I know something's going on. Is it because of this kid? Is it because of what happened earlier?'

'No.'

'So what're you trying to prove?'

Brennan stopped and turned around. 'Listen, Robert; you're a friend but believe me I'm doing you a favour by keeping you out of this.'

'Out of what?'

Brennan smiled then continued going up.

'You know you won't be able to fly the chopper with your leg like that.'

'I can,' Brennan replied opening the door to the roof. 'And I will.'

Daniel stood at the doors to Dryden's private lift, held the poly-ceramic unit up to the encoder pad and ran its open end across it. The colour of the plastic square turned green.

Daniel coated his thumb with a duplicate of Dryden's print then used it to summon the lift. He barely waited for the door to close before pushing open the hatch in the centre of the ceiling.

He looked up the shaft and let out a long, slow breath. 'Well, this looks familiar.' He took out his grey gloves from the satchel and pulled them on.

The climb up the lift shaft "ladder" took him far less time than before but he was panting heavily by the time he stepped onto the ledge by the highest set of doors. He ran his fingers around the edge and located the emergency release, the doors gliding open. Another plastic wedge from his satchel kept the door open.

Before Daniel stepped into the lobby area between the lift and the opaque glass doors he could see the blurred image of a man in the room beyond. The muted sound of Dryden's voice reached him.

Daniel slipped off his gloves and pressed his thumb against the encoder pad. The opaque glass doors opened and, judging from Dryden's expression, he wasn't sure who was more surprised. Dryden sat at his desk with his phone to his ear and for a few moments stared at Daniel, his mouth slightly open.

'I'll have to call you back,' Dryden muttered into his phone.

Daniel stepped into the office and let the glass door close behind him.

'Well, well, Daniel,' Dryden muttered, slipping the phone back into his jacket. 'Still alive?'

'What can I say? Call me Lazarus.'

Dryden gave a thin, dry laugh. 'Quite. It seems that there might be a little more to your DNA than I first thought. Perhaps that could make me even more money than your intelligence gene.'

'I'm not your meal-ticket,' Daniel replied moving closer to him. 'Never have been. You're not going to make anything off me.'

Dryden sat back against the edge of his desk and folded his arms. 'I must say that I'm astounded by your lack of acceptance, Daniel. I suppose it's true what they say about intelligence being no guarantee of common sense.'

'Your experiments end here. This time I'm going to stop you for good.'

Dryden let out a loud, hearty laugh. 'You continue to labour under the misapprehension that I've done something wrong.' He moved over to the metal cabinet and pulled out the top drawer. 'You couldn't be further from the truth.'

He selected a pale blue folder, lifted it out of the drawer and slipped a three-page document from it. The document's front page was emblazoned with the blue and gold Seal of the European President. He held it for Daniel to see. 'Would you care to read it for yourself?'

Daniel looked at the floor. 'No.'

Dryden held the document out in front of him at arm's length, a smug grin across his face. He gave a small cough, clearing his throat. 'There's a lot of legal gobbledygook that I won't bore you with, but the pertinent detail is that this is my "get out of jail free" card. Everything I've ever done here at PathGen, every action that I've ever conducted on behalf of the Emperor Initiative – all of it, Daniel – has been authorised. With this piece of paper not even the World Court could touch me.'

'Alright. That's enough.'

'Yes,' Dryden said as he slid the document into its folder and dropped it back into the drawer, 'it is. So how do you feel about this crusade of yours now? Hmm? I can only imagine how impotent you feel; knowing that it's all been futile.'

'Futile?'

'You're an experiment, nothing more. And as I've already told you: all experiments have to come to an end. There was only ever going to be one outcome to all of this and it's about time you faced facts.'

'Facts? Yeah,' Daniel nodded, 'you're right. Do you remember the last thing I said to you before... before I was taken downstairs?'

'You said so much and, to be quite frank, I didn't find a great deal of it to be of any interest.'

Daniel fixed his eyes on Dryden. 'I said that this wasn't over.'

'How is this not over?'

'It's over.'

Dryden sat back on the edge of his desk and folded his arms once more. 'Oh, I see. Are you here to kill me, Daniel? Is that why you're still here? Is it? Well let me tell you something; I might look vulnerable but believe me, I have defences that I doubt even you could withstand.'

Daniel's voice hardened. 'It's. Over.'

'Simply repeating the words doesn't make it true, you know. And that hard-man stare you think you have going on – it isn't. You're a child, Daniel, and in the end what do you think you could actually do? I mean, really?'

Daniel held Dryden's eyes and grinned.

There was something within Daniel's expression which caused Dryden to stop smiling. There was a confidence in them which made him frown. 'What can you do?'

Daniel's grin turned into a smile. He glanced at his watch.

Dryden stood up from the desk, his face now full of concern. 'What have you done?'

'You told me earlier that when the professor took me from here, he had a plan. You said that he did you a favour by blowing up the building.' He checked his watch again. 'I wonder if you'll be thanking me this time – when it's all over.'

An alarm sounded deep within the building; high-pitched and wailing. Another one began then a third and a fourth. Dryden's phone buzzed and his computer screen flashed red. He darted around to the front of his desk and pushed his chair aside. The display on his monitor showed alarms going off all across the building. A flashing box revealed there was an issue with the reactor. The automated building-evacuation warning began.

'Like I said,' Daniel continued with a broader smile. 'It's over. You kept talking about history, so before I came up here from the morgue I thought I'd create a little of my own.'

Dryden tapped furiously on the holographic keypad and brought up the Thorium reactor schematic; a series of graphics appeared on his monitor – the most significant readout showing that the cooling system had failed – and all the other safety controls were red-lining. The reactor core temperature was rapidly approaching critical.

Dryden pulled out his phone and pressed the screen. 'How did this happen?' he yelled into it, barely pausing to hear the answer. 'Then fix it!'

He looked up at Daniel. 'How the hell were you able to access the reactor system?'

'You may not have heard but I can somehow remember everything I see or hear. Or read.' Daniel pulled the PathGen Tablet he took from the morgue technician, from his satchel. He tossed it to the floor.

'I guess it's just one of those things you're either born with or you're not,' he continued. 'Every system's got a back door, even one as advanced as what you have here. Locking it off once I'd finished re-setting the controls was a little more difficult but I'm pretty sure that your men in white coats won't be able to regain control before it's too late.'

'If the Thorium salts superheat then the whole system will blow,' Dryden yelled. 'It'll take down the entire building. You'll be caught in it just as much as I will.'

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. 'It's a price worth paying. Besides,' he said smiling wider, 'haven't you heard? I can't die.'

A muffled boom sounded from somewhere far below, and the office shuddered. Another explosion sounded – this one much closer – as the reactor vented pressurised, ignited gas through the air ducts. Up on the roof all of the silver vents exploded, sending a pillar of flame high into the air through each one. Dryden's helicopter pilot wasted no time in firing up the engine and releasing the vehicle's wheel locks.

Dryden held Daniel's eyes and his mouth twisted into a leer.

'I told you it was over,' Daniel said.

Dryden sprinted away from his desk, heading for the door leading up to the roof. Daniel was after him like a greyhound snapping at a rabbit. Dryden slowed as he accessed the door's security system and Daniel caught him by the collar of his jacket. Daniel's hand tingled as he gripped the maroon fabric but he held firm and yanked the older man away from the door.

Dryden spun around, one arm raised. He jabbed Daniel in the throat, causing him to fall to his knees, gasping for breath. Dryden turned back, hurriedly opened the door and sprinted up the short flight of steps to the roof door. He keyed in the security code and pressed his eyes against the retinal scanners; swearing under his breath as he waited for the reader to turn green.

The roof door locks released and he pushed it open in time to see his helicopter wheel away into the clear sky.

'Come back here!' Dryden's face twisted. 'Come back here!'

The helicopter continued on its path away from the building.

'Come! Here!'

An explosion from further into the main part of the building made him stagger as small pieces of debris rained down on him – a sizable chunk of the roof had collapsed, leaving a smoking crater. He swore again but this time not under his breath. He glanced back down the short flight of stairs: going through the building was now his only way out.

He made his way back down, taking the steps two at a time and darted through the door into his office. The roof door swung behind him but was stopped from closing fully by blocks of rubble. Daniel stood several metres into the room with his head stooped over his knees, his breathing still ragged.

Dryden made to dash past him but Daniel lashed out, tripping him up. He caught hold of Dryden's foot, pulling his shoe away, and sent him falling to the floor. Daniel tossed the shoe behind him and reached out to grab hold of Dryden's legs but several sharp kicks to his face enabled the older man to get away.

Dryden got up and sprinted towards the opaque glass doors. Daniel recovered his breath and threw himself like a rugby player; catching Dryden around the waist and bringing them both crashing down to the carpet. Dryden spun around and kicked once more at Daniel, but this time his hands held firm. Another explosion rocked the office sending debris and rubble across the room. Dryden's monitor fell from the desk, shattering. The sound of the warning sirens grew louder and panic flared up in Dryden's eyes. He thrashed like a wild animal but still Daniel held on.

'Right,' Dryden muttered through gritted teeth. 'You've asked for it.'

He clamped his legs and arms around Daniel's waist and pulled the teenager's face into his chest. The fabric of the maroon suit shifted and warped as it made contact with living skin.

Dryden smiled as he hugged Daniel tighter. 'I told you I had defences.'

Daniel arched his back to give his arms room to move and punched Dryden twice in the ribs. Above the noise of the sirens came the snap of bone. Dryden cried out and his grip on Daniel eased. Daniel brought his head up – smacking Dryden on the base of the chin – and freed himself from the suffocating embrace.

'Was that it?' he asked, getting to his feet. He rubbed a hand against his cheek – it was slightly reddened. 'What's the big deal? Just feels like I've been out in the sun a bit too long.'

Dryden spat a mouthful of blood and let out a yell like a trapped beast. He lashed out; kicking Daniel's legs from under him then continued his desperate search for an escape. Daniel bounced back to his feet as though he were made of rubber and caught hold of Dryden for the third time, by the glass doors. Daniel spun him around, his fist balled ready for a punch, when an explosion ripped through the office.

Both men were sent flying through the air, like wind-tossed leaves, towards the open lift doors. Daniel smashed into the lift frame with a thud and snap of bone, as Dryden sailed over him into the shaft, hitting the metal workings head-first.

Daniel crashed down with a shriek onto the lift's entrance plate, his left arm hanging limp at his side; twisted at the elbow so that his hand faced the wrong way. He clamped onto the entrance plate with his right arm as blood dripped freely from the fingertips of his left hand.

He heaved himself up so that his stomach was flat to the floor and only his legs were left in the shaft but yelled again as his damaged arm slapped against the hard floor. He fell back, suddenly, into the shaft, managing only to hold on to the lip of the plate by his fingertips and let out another cry of pain. Daniel turned his head and saw what had pulled him down – Dryden held on to his legs; his arms wrapped so tightly around them his face was pressed into the back of Daniel's knees. His eyes were half-closed and dark blood seeped freely from a deep gash on the back of his head, making his brown hair appear black. Dust from the explosions rippled on his suit, almost as if the fabric was trying to shrug it off.

Daniel also saw, far below Dryden's swinging feet, yellow flames flickering through the open hatch in the lift. And they were gathering in intensity.

Dryden groaned and his eyes fluttered open. It seemed to take him a few moments before he realised where he was; and when he did an expression of fear and desperation flooded his face. He hung on tighter to Daniel's legs and scrabbled at the wall of the shaft with his feet – his one shoe scuffing against the concrete wall – but the act only made it more difficult for Daniel to keep a grip on the lift's edge.

Daniel kicked his legs, trying to free himself of the weight but the movement only succeeded in banging his dislocated elbow against the side of the shaft causing him to cry out.

'You started this,' Dryden shouted, his words slurred, 'so if I fall you're coming with me.'

'It'll be worth it!'

Dryden began to claw his way, slowly, up Daniel's legs. 'Better men than you have tried and failed. You're not the one to end me.'

He gripped against Daniel's waist and slapped his hand against the broken elbow. Daniel screamed and nearly let go of the lift plate.

'Looks like you're not quite so invincible, after all.' Dryden clamped one arm around Daniel then pulled out a handkerchief from his suit's pocket, pressing it against Daniel's bloody hand. 'And now I've got a sample of your DNA to replicate. I think I may have to forego the pleasure of slicing you up. After some consideration I think I'd much prefer to see you die for good.'

He continued his climb and clambered up onto Daniel's back.

'You talk too much.' Daniel snapped his head back, colliding with the bridge of Dryden's nose.

It was enough to cause Dryden to release his grip and slide back down onto Daniel's legs; just managing to hold on to the teenager's feet. The bloodied handkerchief floated away from his hand, and Daniel watched as it disappeared into the flames below.

'So much for my DNA. Guess you'll have to try something else.'

Dryden let out another yell, his fingers clawing at Daniel's trousers. Daniel kicked his left leg free, closed his eyes and shut out the pain. He pulled himself up and swung the heel of his free boot up onto the lip of the shaft.

'No you don't,' Dryden yelled. 'No you don't.'

Daniel kept his eyes closed and continued in his agony of heaving the combined weight of Dryden and himself out of the shaft. He managed to get back to the flat of his stomach when Dryden, once again, pulled him back. This time, however, Dryden had released Daniel's leg and gripped onto his trailing broken arm. The act spun Daniel around and would have pulled him head-first into the shaft if he hadn't have braced himself against either side of the frame with his right hand and leg.

It felt to him as if Dryden was pulling his left arm apart.

The move hadn't been quite the success that Dryden hoped it would; the blood seeping onto Daniel's fingers made his grip on it hard to secure. It was as if he was trying to hold on to an oiled fish; his fingers slipped and he had to constantly scramble for grip. With every new grab of Dryden's hands Daniel's cries grew louder.

A shadow fell over both of them from above, causing Dryden to go quiet and his eyes widen. 'Brennan?'

Daniel snapped his head back up. The man he'd fought with at Brinkley House loomed over him with his feet spread wide. The adhesive plaster across his nose and discoloured eye gave his expression a fearsome demeanour.

'For God's sake get me out of here,' Dryden yelled. 'I can't hold on much longer. My head... I... Stop looking at me like some stupid idiot and get me out of here.'

Brennan turned his gaze between Dryden and Daniel.

The animosity in the man's grey eyes told Daniel all he needed to know: there was a deep-seated loathing in them. This was it. Outnumbered and hurt; in that instant he knew that it was the end of the line.

'Brennan!'

'My knee,' Brennan muttered to Dryden, patting the brace on his leg. 'I'm afraid it's a little stiff from what happened earlier and the flight over here in the chopper didn't do it any good. Plus, for some reason, my ribs are really sore. I'm having trouble bending down.'

'Stop messing about and get me out of this bloody lift. Can't you see the whole place is going to blow?'

Brennan gave a resigned nod and eased himself down onto one knee, giving a grunt of pain. Daniel didn't say a word as Brennan reached down into the shaft, took hold of Dryden's bare wrist and released the man from Daniel's bloody hand.

'You okay?' Brennan asked.

'Do I look okay?' Dryden yelled back.

Brennan held Dryden's crazed eyes. 'What makes you think I'm talking to you?' He turned his grey eyes to Daniel. They softened into a smile. 'Kid, are you okay?'

Daniel managed to give a short nod in reply.

Brennan grabbed Daniel's collar with his free hand and hoisted him over the ledge.

'What is this?' Dryden said, trying to catch hold of Daniel's legs. 'What are you doing?'

'Better get yourself out of there,' Brennan told Daniel.

Daniel managed another quick nod of his head then pushed himself away from the lift shaft. Dryden tried again to grab hold of him, but failed. Daniel sat close to the opening, cradling his damaged arm and desperately trying to understand what was happening.

'What the bloody hell's going on?' Dryden said, scrabbling to get hold of the lift plate with his free hand. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'I'm just following orders,' Brennan answered, the smile leaving his eyes. 'But the thing is; they're not yours.'

'No,' Dryden said; the word tinged with panic. 'No, don't do this. You can't.'

Brennan nodded and gave Dryden a cold smile. 'Didn't you once tell me that I should just follow orders, not to question them or try to comprehend their reasoning?'

'I didn't mean like this!'

'Tough.' Brennan smiled. 'Goodbye, Mr Dryden.'

Brennan let go of his wrist. Dryden flailed in the air and cried 'No!' as he dropped like a stone. He clipped the side of the shaft wall – his one remaining shoe being pulled off – and spun twice before thudding with a crunch onto the flame-kissed ceiling of the lift eleven floors below. He bounced once then didn't move.

Another set of explosions rocked the building and almost sent Daniel back into the lift shaft.

'Come on,' Brennan said regaining his feet and turning back towards the office, 'it's time to go. We'll have your arm seen to once we get back to London. Do you think you can manage 'til then?'

Daniel stayed, rooted to the spot. 'Who are you?'

'We haven't got time for this. We need to go now.'

'No. You tell me who you are or I'm not going anywhere.'

Brennan stopped and turned. His eyes softened. 'My name is Miles Brennan,' he muttered. 'And as I tried to tell you before; I'm not your enemy. I'm here to help you.'

'Why?'

More explosions sounded from deep below. 'I promise you that I'll answer any questions you have, later. If we don't leave now then we're likely to join that slimy bugger at the bottom of the lift.'

'Why should I trust you?'

'Daniel, we don't have time for this!'

'Tell me.'

'Okay, fine. I knew you were here 'cos the guy in America who sold you your phone synched you up to a haema-tag –'

'You know Pickford?'

'Know of him. He gave my associate over there your location.'

'Associate?'

'Yeah. I think you met him when he stopped a car running into you and your girlfriend.'

'Oh, him.'

'Anyway, he was with this Pickford when you... when you got better. I was sent to retrieve you.' Brennan gave a wry smile. 'Personally I'm hoping it'll go smoother this time than it did at Brinkley House. I'm not sure I could take another one of your right hooks. Really now, we need to go.'

Daniel nodded. 'Alright.'

'At last.' Brennan then turned back around and headed towards the doors to the roof.

Daniel fell in step cradling his injured arm but the movement was too much. 'Ow!'

Brennan turned back. 'Here.' He said pulling off his jacket. 'This might hurt.' He tied the arms together, looped them over Daniel's neck and fashioned a make-do sling with the rest of it. 'That'll have to do you for now.'

Daniel relaxed a little as he eased his arm into the sling. 'Thanks. That's better.'

'Wait until I send you the cleaning bill. You'll not be thanking me then.'

Daniel laughed. 'Sure.'

'Now come on.'

Daniel followed Brennan up onto the roof. From up there he could hear the multiple wails of sirens much clearer. Columns of black smoke billowed out from numerous open wounds in the fabric of the building and the smell of ammonia filled the air. A trio of fire engines were making their way along the lane towards the building; their lights flashing and their sirens blaring. Brennan waved at him from the helicopter, urging him to hurry along.

Daniel climbed in through the open door, struggled to strap himself into the passenger seat and then pulled on a set of headphones. 'I'm sorry about your neck,' he muttered looking at the twin burn marks above Brennan's collar, his voice tinged with embarrassment. 'I... I hope it didn't hurt too much.'

'No, no. Don't worry about it. Better than the alternative,' Brennan replied, powering up the engines and lifting the helicopter off from the building. 'And besides, fifty-thousand volts just clears the head, nothing more.'

'So tell me,' Daniel said as they peeled away from the burning labs. 'Whose orders are you following?'

Brennan turned to him and smiled.
CHAPTER 25

'I received a call from Control at seventeen-thirty-five hours two days ago,' Brennan said, 'notifying me of an incident at the PathGen laboratories.'

He stood in a plush office, straight-backed – with his chin high and hands clasped behind his back – as though he were in the presence of a commanding officer. The bandage across his nose was now only a small dressing but the area around his left eye had turned colourful shades of yellow and purple following the effects of his first encounter with Daniel. Streams of daylight speared in through slatted blinds.

Margaret Coulson sat facing him behind a large, leather-topped desk – her chin resting on the tips of her fingers. 'And then what did you do?'

'I commandeered the Unit's helicopter and headed straight for the location.'

'Despite the condition you were in?'

'Control gave me to believe that the situation was urgent.'

Margaret looked down to the desk and at the Tablet which showed a report of the smoldering PathGen labs. 'That's putting it mildly.' She looked back up to Brennan. 'So what happened when you got there?'

'I landed at the empty Heli-pad and entered through the secure access point leading down to Control's office.'

'How?'

Brennan shrugged his shoulders. 'It was open. Debris from the roof explosions prevented the upper door from closing and one of Control's shoes was wedging the inner door open.'

'One of his shoes?'

'That's what it looked like.'

'And just how did one of his shoes get to be there?'

'Couldn't say, ma'am. Happened before I arrived.'

'I see.' She made a note on her Tablet. 'Go on.'

'I was too late. The Thorium reactor had already reached a critical level and triggered a number of explosions throughout the building. One of which occurred as I entered the office. Control was at the far end, in the lobby area; it looked as if he was trying to get down to the ground floor. The lift doors opened just as one explosion happened. From what I saw there wasn't any lift in the shaft and Control was blown into it. I'm guessing that the inertia-free drive mechanisms must have failed with the original series of explosions. I raced to see if I could do anything but it was too late. There was a fire in the bottom of the shaft and I could see Control's body lying on top of the lift several floors below. He wasn't moving and appeared to be dead.'

'And what medical training do you have to support that assumption?'

'None, formally.'

Margaret paused and made a sucking sound through her teeth. 'I see.'

'But my years of experience told me that he hadn't survived the fall.'

'So at that point he may still have been alive?'

It was Brennan's turn to pause. 'It's possible. But unlikely.'

Margaret leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. 'And then what did you do?'

'There were more explosions going off. It appeared as if the whole building was being ripped apart –'

'And it would've done if the team of technicians hadn't have managed to bring the situation back under control. Even so, we still lost half of the site.' She looked back up to him. 'So what did you do then?'

'I headed back to my helicopter, departed the scene and returned to London.'

Margaret tapped at the Tablet and the screen showed a report containing Gregory Dryden's photo. 'You say that the Heli-pad was empty?'

'Yes.'

'So where was Control's helicopter?'

Brennan shook his head. 'Wouldn't like to guess. You'd have to ask his pilot that.'

'We would if we could find him.' Margaret tilted her head slightly to one side, looked back up at Brennan and tapped the desk with one of her fingers. 'So there was nothing you could do to save him? Control, that is.'

'No. Not in my opinion.'

'And there was no sign of Tiberius?'

'Tiberius?' Brennan asked, frowning.

She paused. 'Yes.'

'I thought he was dead.'

'And why would you think that?'

Brennan shrugged his shoulders. 'I read a report that stated he died whilst trying to break into the PathGen labs shortly before the explosions started.'

'Let me put it this way: Did you see Tiberius, at all, while you were there?' She emphasised each word.

'No. Wouldn't he have been in the morgue?'

'Quite. The sub-levels suffered the most damage though and... well, let's just say I don't like leaving any loose ends.' Margaret gave a slight nod of her head. 'Right, well I think that'll be all for now. I'll expect a full, written report from you about what happened by the end of the day.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

'We may have other questions for you so make sure you're available. Dismissed.'

'Ma'am.'

Brennan spun on one heel and, with a slight limp, made his way out of her office. Margaret watched him go and as the door closed tapped at the screen on her Tablet once more. The image of a man in a white coat, consulting a diagnostic Tablet showed in a small window – the view of a camera in a medical suite – along with the sound of a phone ringing. The man answered the call and looked up at the camera.

'Dr Farrage.'

'It's Margaret Coulson here, doctor.' She paused as if considering her words. 'What's his current condition?'

The man looked off to his right, at something the camera couldn't see. 'No real change. He's alive, effectively.' He looked back to the camera, his expression stern. 'Although, I've no idea how. Brain functionality is now stable but he's still on life-support. We still haven't been able to remove the... the clothing.'

'I see. Keep me informed, immediately, if there's any development.'

'Absolutely.'

Margaret ended the call and the image on her Tablet closed.

There was a knock at her office door; a young woman opened it and poked her head through the gap. 'I'm sorry to interrupt you, ma'am, but the Board are waiting for you in the conference room.'

Margaret smiled. 'Yes. Thank you, Sarah. I'm on my way.'

Doctor Farrage moved away from the area in front of the camera and over to the only bed in the room. Gregory Dryden lay on his back; his eyes closed and with his arms flat by his side. A number of small ceramic monitors were attached to his bruised, shaved head and a respirator covered his mouth. A white, padded bandage covered most of the back of his head.

His chest rose and fell with each pulse of a life-support system. The shoulders of his maroon jacket showed above the pale blue bed sheet covering him. No outward sign of dirt or damage showed on the fabric.

Doctor Farrage checked the readouts from the monitors and entered some notes onto the Tablet he held. He paused; watching Dryden's breathing then glanced out through the glass walls of the medical suite. Three nurses were talking to each other further along the corridor but the area immediately outside was empty. He moved to the doorway and tapped a sensor. The glass walls turned opaque.

He gripped his Tablet in his left hand and approached the bed, rubbing the tips of his right fingers together. He glanced back over one shoulder to make sure that no one was looking then slowly, gingerly, reached out towards the maroon suit. Perhaps it was a trick of the light but it was almost as if the material rippled in anticipation. His fingertips were a hair's breadth away when he thought better of it and drew his hand back.

The maroon fabric seemed to relax back into the uniform flatness that it usually was.

'No,' he muttered to himself. 'Not a good idea, Michael.'

He spun around and headed for the door, closing it behind him.

She sat alone in the same place she always did. He checked his watch; she should be leaving for lunch any time now. It felt odd having the watch on his right wrist but it wouldn't be long before he could move it back. His damaged arm sat cradled in a blue, padded sling and he'd been able to move his fingers only a few hours after it had been re-set.

It was strange; it'd only been four days since he'd last seen her – two since they'd last spoken – but somehow it seemed much longer. Daniel wondered what that meant but deep down thought he knew the answer.

He sat facing her in one of the seats in the adjacent line of terminals in the New York Public Library, not really sure what to say to her, and kicked himself for not calling her as soon as he'd left the PathGen labs. Or at least once he'd made the decision to return to America.

Eleanor closed her laptop down and slipped it into the brown shoulder bag she wore. Daniel realised that he caught his breath as she stood up; her hair bounced and there was something about the way it moved that made him feel funny.

Her eyes went wide as she glanced up and caught sight of him. She held one hand to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes. Daniel smiled and waved with his good hand.

'The best iced Mocha in town,' Daniel said as the vendor in Bryant Park passed Eleanor a cardboard cup. 'With extra whipped cream.'

'You remembered.'

'Yeah, that's something I'm good at.' He paid the man for the drinks, took his coffee then pointed towards one of the empty benches. Despite it being a warm, sunny day the park wasn't busy. 'Shall we?'

'So are you going to tell me what happened?' she asked as they sat down. 'I was so worried after we spoke on Wednesday. You sounded so... so determined; it scared me. And then when your cell stopped working ... I didn't know what to think. Why didn't you call? Even if it was just to let me know you were okay.'

'I wanted to. Really. I just wasn't sure what to say. The thing is I wasn't even sure if I'd be coming back to New York.'

'Oh.'

'Okay that didn't come out the way I wanted. What I meant was that Dryden and all those other people knew about you, knew that we were friends and that made you a target. They thought they could get to me by threatening you and I didn't want that. I thought that maybe if I never saw you again then they wouldn't have any reason to... Well, you know.'

'So you thought that by making me think you were dead you were actually doing me a favour?'

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. 'I guess.'

'For a smart guy you're really pretty dumb.' She looked him square in the eye. 'I'm not a kid, Danny; I can take care of myself. I'm half-French after all, remember? And if I like someone then it's up to me to decide if, or when, I stop seeing them. Whatever the risk. Okay?'

'Okay.'

'Good. So are you going to tell me what did happen over there?'

Daniel looked into her brown eyes and for a moment considered telling her everything. 'There's not much to tell: I met Dryden, confronted him and... and that's it.'

'Simple as that?'

'Simple as that.'

'Only on Wednesday I saw on the news about an explosion in some research labs near Oxford. Was that just a coincidence?'

'Right, I forgot about you wanting to join the FBI. Good detective work. No, no coincidence.'

'So?'

'Long story short: we had a fight. There were explosions going off and we ended up in the lift shaft. The thing is, even after all the things he'd done, after all the people he'd killed because of me, I still couldn't kill him. I went there thinking that if the only way I could stop him was by killing him then that's what I'd do. But when it came to it, I just couldn't.'

'You say that like it's a bad thing. It just proves that you were the better man.'

'I don't know what I'd have done if Brennan hadn't have turned up.'

'Brennan?'

'He was someone I... bumped into. I thought he was one of Dryden's men but...' Daniel paused as he groped for the right words, 'but I guess he was some sort of double agent. He stopped me from falling into the lift at PathGen and took hold of Dryden's hand. Then he let him go. Brennan killed him. Said he was following orders. It was Brennan who flew me out of there in a helicopter.'

'So it's all over, then? For good? '

'It's over. They think I'm dead.' It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

'The man who flew you away from the labs; this Brennan, was he working with the guy who came to the house?'

'He didn't say so precisely but that's what he wanted me to think.'

'So who do they work for?'

'I still don't know,' Daniel said shaking his head. 'He promised to tell me but it was all such of a rush once we'd landed – medics were hurrying me up to get my arm looked at and by the time I thought to ask again, he'd gone. But he did save me.'

'So maybe they were good guys, after all?'

'Yeah, maybe.' Daniel took a sip of his coffee and looked out across the park. 'But I think it's going to take me a long time before I can just trust anyone again.'

'Oh, right.'

He looked at her. 'There are only two people in the whole world I do trust; one lives and works in a basement, the other has a really cute smile.'

Across the park, from his car parked on 6th Avenue, William Cross held a small pair of binoculars up to his eyes and watched as the two teenagers leaned into each other and shared a tender kiss.

'So do you think you're still going to be around on the seventeenth?' Eleanor asked, resting her head on Daniel's shoulder. 'For the Ball?'

'I think I can manage that.'

'Shame about your arm. Still, I'm sure we can do some dancing.'

'Yeah, about that.' Daniel released the catches holding the sling's strapping. He flexed his hand and straightened the arm. 'Give it a few days and we'll be Tangoing with the best of them.'

Brennan walked across the carpeted lobby from the tenth-floor lift and opened the door marked "CLIFTON INTERNATIONAL INVESTMENTS". He tucked the tight vacuum-sealed bag under his arm and moved along a series of corridors before opening a wide, wooden door. The five men sitting around the conference table didn't even acknowledge his arrival.

'We were expecting you before now,' the man sitting at the head of the table muttered.

'The attention I was getting was too hot after what happened at PathGen,' Brennan said. 'This was the earliest I could get here without being trailed.'

'And how did the meeting with Mrs Coulson go?'

'You knew about that?'

The man looked up. 'We know everything, Captain Brennan.'

'Not quite.' He tossed the bag onto the table so that it slid up to him.

'Ah.' The man released the grip-strip and pulled out a clear plastic bag. Inside was the jacket Brennan had given Daniel as a sling. It was stained with blood.

'Will that be good enough?'

The man smiled for the first time. 'We'll see. Good work, Miles. Why don't you take a seat?'

The private medical suite lay quiet and dark; the stillness interrupted only by the uniform wheeze of the life-support system and the bleep of monitors. Dryden's chest rose and fell with mechanical regularity. The clack of heels and conversation sounded in the corridor outside as two nurses walked past.

The maroon suit rippled. Dryden's eyes moved under his closed lids; slowly at first but then frantically. His eyelids flickered open and he winced as they adjusted to the light. He raised an arm from under the blue bed sheet and pulled the respirator away from his mouth.

The End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Andrew is a writer of not only novels but also short stories and short- and full-length screenplays. He currently works as a teacher in an adult-learning environment, but hopes to be able to write full-time in the near future.

He lives in the UK with his Welsh Terrier, Ceiwyn.

Follow him on Twitter - @agwriting

Daniel's story will continue in Tiberius Bound _._

