Smeby's… bodyguard, secretary, aide, whatever she was finally turned to him. 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing what you said to the young woman at the desk.'
Kendrick looked at her, surprised. 'You mean about the programmed windows?'
Candice nodded. 'Yes, the Archimedes. I was up there once. Very hard to forget.'
Kendrick was thunderstruck. 'The Archimedes? You were on board?'
'Part of a rotating detachment, before the station was abandoned.' The lift started to slow down.
'That must have been quite an experience,' he said carefully.
A smile played at the edge of her lips. 'Quite an experience, yes. Doesn't it make you wonder what's up there now?'
'I can't begin to imagine. The whole thing was…' He paused, not sure what to say.
'Crazy, I think you were going to say.' Candice smiled, as if to suggest that she didn't mind.
Of course, Kendrick had realized all along that he must be seeing something like the Archimedes during his seizures. But that was all it was – a figment of his imagination. Something like the Archimedes, but not bearing any relation to anything real. Just some random environment that his augments had dredged up from his subconscious as they wove themselves ever more inextricably into the stuff of his brain. Nothing more than that. Yet seeing it there, externalized, as if it had been ripped from the recesses of his mind and reproduced so precisely, that had been shocking, even frightening.
And it raised the question he'd been asking himself all those long months: why, of all things, would he hallucinate about the Archimedes?
The elevator doors opened and Kendrick stepped into a room large enough to house a medium-size conference. A long, low table, set up near the windows, had a variety of computer equipment scattered across its surface, including some expensive-looking gridcom gear. Smeby himself stood by the wide window, staring absent-mindedly out over the people walking in the street far below. His arms were folded across his chest, as if hugging himself. He turned and stepped forward when he noticed Kendrick standing there.
Kendrick heard the elevator doors close behind him and turned to see that Candice had left them alone together.
Kendrick held the business card between his thumb and forefinger, where Smeby could easily see it. 'You could have just given me a call,' he began.
Smeby laughed, as if appreciating a point well made. 'But then you wouldn't have wanted to satisfy your curiosity by coming here, would you?'
'How did you find me?'
'You are Kendrick Gallmon, aren't you?'
'That depends.'
'Your identity is entirely safe, Mr Gallmon. My employer wishes to speak to you.'
Kendrick stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders; the room felt immediately cold. 'I don't see anyone else around, unless you mean Candice.'
'I work for Max Draeger.'
'Draeger? You work for Max Draeger?' Walk out now, thought Kendrick. 'Then we have nothing to say to each other.' He turned and headed back towards the elevator.
'Mr Draeger wants to know if you've been suffering from any seizures recently,' Smeby called after him.
Kendrick stopped to turn and stare at Smeby. 'Fine -you've got my attention. But why should you care?'
'Another question. You know there are upwards of two thousand still-living Labrats. Are you still in contact with any of them?'
'That's really none of your business.'
'We know of Caroline, of course. And your friend Buddy.'
'I think you already heard my answer, Smeby.'
'You were kept in Ward Seventeen during your incarceration in the Maze, and you've been involved with some interesting people since your time there.'
'What about you, then? Were you one of those running the Maze?'
Smeby smiled. 'I think you should be aware that Mr Draeger is offering you his aid.'
'Draeger?' Kendrick laughed. 'Perhaps you should just tell me what he wants.'
'He wants to help you.'
'Why would I need his help?'
'Your augmentations have turned rogue, Mr Gallmon. There are ways for us to find such things out, even before the effects manifest themselves visibly. Mr Draeger has extended an invitation for you to visit him at his home and primary research facility. He's very interested to meet you. He believes he may even be able to cure you.'
14 October 2096 Above the Armoured Saint
Malky was rich, though no one would be able to tell from the external appearance of his home. Squeezed on either side by the new housing complexes that had sprung up all over the city to house the waves of refugees, the five-floor tenement looked as though it was being beat up by the silver and glass towers that now surrounded it. But appearances could be deceptive. Malky owned the entire block, including the Armoured Saint, which was situated on the ground floor – and Kendrick knew that it had been far from cheap to acquire.
He also knew that Malky's full name was Mikhail Konstantin Vasilevich, a third-generation immigrant whose great-grandparents had arrived from the Chernobyl region in the 1980s. Malky had used his ill-gotten gains from a wide and spectacular variety of illegal pursuits to set himself up in style. His particular speciality, however, was producing fake ID, a booming market since America had slowly begun to emerge from civil unrest and a considerable number of people had found an urgent need to disappear.
People like Kendrick, say.
'Stop worrying. You're fine.'
Kendrick glanced nervously out through a tall window and into the street running in front of the Saint. They were in Malky's cramped office, a room on the floor directly above the bar.
'Does that mean you managed to cope with the security systems?' Kendrick asked.
'Of course.' Malky shrugged. 'Otherwise the Saint wouldn't keep its reputation for being a safe place for all kinds of people. So you're clean. And, while you're here, maybe you can tell me again exactly how you knew there were explosives left in the building.'
'I told you, my augments picked it up.'
Malky gave him a sideways look. 'I know your augments can pick up on electronics in your immediate vicinity, but not from the far end of a very long bar.'
'You're saying you don't believe me?'
'I'm saying it doesn't make much sense, is all.'
Kendrick sighed and shook his head. 'I don't know what else I can say.'
There was a brief, awkward silence. 'I've been asking questions,' Malky continued. 'Most of the people who frequent the Saint are US refugees, so it looks like whoever planted that bomb figured Edinburgh could do with a few less Yanks.'
'You know this for a fact?' Kendrick decided not to mention the possibility of Los Muertos. That would lead to a whole range of further questions he didn't feel up to dealing with right now.
Malky let out a long sigh. 'No, I don't know for sure. But, like I said, I asked some questions. It's not the first time something like this has happened, you know. We've got a visual recording of a man coming in, putting the bag down, and leaving after a couple of minutes. But we don't know who he was, and Todd hasn't been able to find any matches for his face in any of the police databases that he has access to. Now,' Malky continued, 'you were saying you needed to find something out?'
