Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) (8 page)

“I need to get back to my work. Was that
all you wanted?”

Wendy spoke up, “We also wanted to raise a
delicate matter with you and did not want to risk the discussion being
compromised.”

“Compromised? My communications encryption
is rock solid. Now I really am offended.”

“Forgive us, Mr. Alexander, but we didn’t
want to take any chances. Shall we proceed?” When he did not reply Henry
continued, “We have reason to believe that a rival firm called the Ankh
Corporation has taken an interest in your research.”

“An interest? As in they want to invest?”

“We do not believe that their interest is
benign. We believe that they will attempt to arrange a security breach.
Industrial espionage is their most profitable line of business.”

“A breach? No way they could get in. I
developed the security protocols myself. No one can get past them. You should
know; all of your attempts have failed.”

Wendy again had the good grace to look
embarrassed. “We needed to ensure that your data was secure.”

“It is.”

“They may try something more aggressive,
such as influencing key employees or even direct burglary; these people are no
Boy Scouts.”

“What, exactly, do you want?”

“What we want, Mr. Alexander, is your
permission to provide you additional security support until the threat passes.”

“No.”

“Sorry?”

“Absolutely not. I will consider any
surveillance or counter surveillance by you or your colleagues or your agents
to be a breach of the privacy condition of our contract. If you breach the
contract I will get other investors. My proven success in getting product to
market means that you are not the only ones willing to play. I do like your
discretion, but it is only worth so much to me. Overstep my bounds and we will
part ways.”

“Now hold on, Mr. Alexander, no need to
overreact. We were offering our support. If you do not want it or need it, we
will not provide it.”

“Good. The answer still is and always will be,
no.”

He got up to leave.

He was further along with his design of the
processing side than he had told them and he was very close to solving the
sensitivity issue; he knew he was just missing a simple solution. The solution
was always simple once one thought of it. He decided then and there that he
would buy his way out of his contract with Blacksun once the new line was
launched; he needed get out from under them.

He did not need the distraction of being
accountable to anyone; it took too much time away from his interests. After the
developments of the previous night he was anxious to get on with his side
project.

After Alexander left, Henry turned to Wendy
and said, “He’s definitely hiding something. Get someone discreet to set up the
surveillance. We need someone who cannot be linked to us, someone special.”

“I know just the person.”

Finn
poked his head in the door. “Professor? Do you have a minute?

“Hello, Finn. Please come in, have a seat.
Tell me, how did that pub crawl last week go?”

Finn sat and looked up at the poster on the
wall that showed protesters holding signs that said things like, “Animal
Experimentation is Cruel” and “Free the Chimps.” The caption at the bottom of
the poster said, “Thanks to animal experimentation these protesters live on
average 5 years longer.”

“Great, Professor. Lots of fun had by all. Well,
almost all.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about our friend Mr.
Brown. He really is a tit isn’t he?”

“Yes, Professor, I believe he is.” Finn sat
down. “I wanted to say thank you for granting me access to the data. I just
started my analysis, but my preliminary findings are, um, interesting.”

“What exactly are you looking for? We
didn’t have time to discuss it last week.”

“Well, Professor, you remember a few weeks
ago we tested a subject and she scored off the charts on the card test? We
retested her again last week and she scored horribly.”

“Yes, and …? We all know the variability of
results is the bane of our science.” Proctor slipped into lecture mode. “The
purpose of Science and, arguably, the brain itself, is to determine how things
work and then to be able to use this knowledge to predict the outcome of
events. The purpose of experimentation is to determine what variables influence
a particular outcome and, if possible, to quantify the outcome based in the
variables and their strength.”

“Agreed, Professor.”

“We parapsychologists, with this particular
type of experiment, are trying to determine whether the brain can detect remote
events. Unfortunately, the variable results we see indicate to other
scientists,” he said the word scientists with a sneer, “that we are fixing our
results or are merely incompetent and are unable to design a solid experiment.”

“Again, agreed, Professor. This particular
set of results intrigued me. The most recent set of tests offset the original
results and obliterated the statistical relevance.”

“Yes, yes, and …? We both know that chance
plays a large part in these experiments.”

“That is what I thought too. The
interesting thing is, after combining her two sets of results, her predictions
were exactly equal to pure chance. Exactly.”

Proctor indicated Finn should continue by
waving his hand in front of himself in a circular motion.

“I started to review all of the experiments
conducted here in the last five years. I am not done yet, but most of our
results agree with results published by other institutions over the last
century. We see a small but statistically significant evidence of psi. However,
for a few subjects, when we first test them, their results are off the charts.
They can guess every symbol, predict every flash of light and describe in great
detail every remote target object. Then when we ask them to return for
additional tests they score poorly, more poorly than chance even. So poorly, in
fact, that when we amalgamate their results they look like everyone else.”

Finn took a deep breath. “And that,
Professor, is the pattern. Someone or something is messing with our results or
our experiments or both.”

Finn could see the cogs and gears turning
in Proctor’s head. His eyes glazed for a second as he focused his remarkable
brain on Finn’s proposal. Finn knew this was a good sign. Proctor had not
immediately spotted a hole in his theory.

“Finn, this is interesting. Do you think
the data will allow you to prove it? Without a clear pattern backed up by rock
solid stats we will just end up damaging our reputations even more in the
scientific community. We will also make a number of enemies in our field if we
suggest some sort of conspiracy.”

“I agree. If I can prove this, it leads to
two very interesting questions. Who is doing it and, more importantly, why?”

“Once you have something that looks solid I
want Dawson to look at it. I'll brief him.”

“Um, about Dr. Dawson. I was hoping you
could review this personally.”

“Look, Finn, I know that Dawson can be a
bit prickly and you both don’t really like each other, but all the more reason
for him to review your analysis. If you can get it through his review it will
be bomb proof. I will review it, but I want to come at it fresh when you think
you have it all down.”

“I suppose you’re right, Professor. I just
wanted to keep this as quiet as possible. I don’t know who to trust.”

“I trust Dawson completely, and you can
too. I do not know of a brighter, more dedicated researcher. Nor one as
abrasive.”

“Alright, Professor, I’ll see if I can get
him something in a few weeks.”

“Thank you for bringing this to me, Finn.
This could be the opportunity that this department, indeed, this whole science
of ours, needs to break into the Premier Division.”

“I got it, Professor. Nothing will stop me
from getting to the bottom of this.”

Finn was going to the Ball with Bex
tonight.

Well, he was going with Jonni but meeting
her there. He tried to tell himself that this was the same thing, but he
couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. He had not actually asked her to go
with him.

He thought back to when he kind of asked
her. It went something like this:

“Hi, Bex, I hear that Old Hall is holding a
ball on Saturday. Are you going?”

“Yeah, I heard about it, I think I’ll go.
Are you going?”

“Yeah, I think I will go too.”

“OK, see you there, maybe.”

“Sure, maybe.”

That was the same as going to a ball
together, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

He rushed back to the flat he and Jonni
shared on Market Street, across the park from the Student Union. He and Jonni
shared the flat with Aye, another post grad.

The place was filthy, really, really
filthy.

None of them wanted it to be filthy, but they
were all just a little lazy and none of them wanted to be the “flat Mum.” Finn had
made that mistake before. When he was fourteen and studying for his first
degree at Cambridge, he had shown weakness and cleaned the entire flat one
tedious, horrible weekend. His flat mates at the time were very grateful, oh so
very grateful, but they also then knew that he was more likely than anyone else
in the flat to break down and clean again. And so Finn became the “flat Mum,”
the maid.

The alternative was to get
organized
,
which was a sort of hell on earth. Posting schedules on the fridge, arguing
about whose turn it was to buy cleaning supplies or toilet paper. No way were
they going to fall into that trap. Or maybe they were just fooling themselves
about the magnitude of their laziness.

Finn was hungry so he had picked up some
food from Greasy Joes, the chippy around the corner. Black pudding and chips
with curry sauce, lovely.

He had some food in the fridge he could
have prepared, but that would entail finding a partially clean plate on the
floor, then locating the kitchen sink under the piles of crockery so he could
run some water on it. He would then need to find something semi-clean to dry
his plate on, all before he could even start preparing dinner. It really was
not worth the trouble. The food from the chippy was cheap and it came in its
own disposable container; much simpler. Based on the size of the line, many
other students felt the same way. It wasn’t the quality of the food that packed
them in.

When he was nearly done eating, Aye came in
with a similar container. “Greasy Joes?” said Finn.

“Aye,” said Aye and sat down on the couch,
started to eat and turned on the TV. Oh joy,
Gladiators
was on, again.

Aye’s real name was Angus. Everyone called
him Angus to his face and Aye behind his back.

“Good day today, Angus?” Finn asked.

“Aye.”

“Jonni and I are going to the ball tonight
at Old Hall. Are you coming?”

Angus shook his head.

“Could you keep an eye out for Jonni? If he
comes in can you let him know I am upstairs getting ready?”

“Aye.”

“Yes, an eye. Can you keep an eye out for
him?”

Angus opened his mouth and then narrowed
his eyes at him and turned back to the TV.

Almost got him, thought Finn.

He was in his tuxedo heading down the
stairs when he saw Jonni coming out of his room in his kilt and jacket. He
looked a little like a toad in a skirt: short, stocky, bulging eyes. “Ah, don’t
you look pretty,” Finn said.

“Fuck you. You’re just jealous that you
aren’t a Scot and don’t get all the shiny silver buttons and such.”

“Um, no, I’m not jealous and I am a Scot. I
speak like this because I went to a good school. I just don’t like wearing
skirts, thanks very much.”

“Um, yes you fuckin’ are jealous, you sound
English and you are probably ashamed of the size of your cock and that is why
you don’t want to wear a kilt,” replied Jonni.

“Please tell me you’re not wearing your
kilt in the, shall we say, traditional manner,” Finn said. Jonni smiled and
lifted the front of his kilt. Finn flinched and turned away. He gave his
shoulders a little shake. “You know you don’t have to prove it to anyone who
asks.”

“Aye, but it’s way more fun this way.”

“Let’s just agree to disagree and leave.
Alright?”

“No way am I agree’n to anything. Let’s
go.”

“It seems like your hip flask is fully
functional. Give me a swig.”

It took them about half an hour to find Bex
and her friends at the Ball. Finn had tried to nonchalantly examine every girl
with dark hair to determine if she was Bex. People looked different in fancy
clothes and makeup. Jonni not so nonchalantly examined every female to
determine if there were any impending nipslips.

When Finn finally saw Bex across the ballroom
floor he caught his breath. She looked fabulous in a little black dress and her
usual cherry red Doc Martins. Her dress suited her slim figure and displayed
just the right amount of cleavage: visible, but not in danger of a Chernobyl;
there would be no fallout.

Finn looked over at Jonni. Jonni’s mouth
was slightly open. He became aware of Finn’s attention and looked back with a
start then said, “Ah man, the beast is stirring in my pants.”

“Classy,” said Finn. “And untrue. You’re
not wearing pants, remember?” said Finn. “Let’s go over. Try not to embarrass
me too much.”

“Look, it’s not my fuckin’ problem you get
embarrassed easily.”

“Actually, I have a remarkably high
embarrassment threshold. That’s why I am the only one who hangs around with
you.”

Jonni pouted and said, “Mean.”

They walked over to Bex and her friends.

“Hiya, Bex,” Finn said awkwardly, quietly.

Bex did not hear him.

Jonni muttered, “Oh for fuck’s sake,” under
his breath and punched Finn in the arm, hard.

“Hiya, Bex,” Finn said, louder. At least
his voice did not crack.

Bex turned and smiled warmly. His heart
lurched in his chest.

“Hello, boys,” she said playfully and put
her hand on Finn’s shoulder and pulled him into her circle of friends. “Finn,
Jonni, this is Lindsay, and of course you both know Diana.”

Jonni nodded his head at Diana and said,
“Duchess.” Dianna scowled back.

Lindsay was a heavy girl and, unlike Bex,
she was in danger of spilling out of her gown. “So this is Finn. Nice to meet
you, Finn.” She turned to Jonni and looked him up and down. “I’m glad you’re
here, Jonni, was it?” she asked. He nodded. “We were hoping you could help us
to clear up that old urban myth about what a Scot wears under his kilt.”

Jonni turned slightly to Finn and half
shrugged in apology. Then he turned back to Lindsay and bent forward to grab
the hem of his kilt.

Finn and Bex were hot and breathless from
the Ceilidh that Jonni had claimed to hate. Finn now knew the little bastard
had manipulated him into going to the Ball from the start. Jonni knew every
dance and had taught Finn, Bex and Lindsay the steps to the Dashing White
Sergeant and Strip the Willows. When Jonni started to snog Lindsay, Finn and
Bex quietly slipped away.

Finn got some drinks from the bar and they
sat at a table in the sterile, brightly lit cafeteria. Bex was flushed and
laughing. “I can’t believe she’s kissing him. I thought she was going to punch
him in the face when he flashed her.”

“Maybe she saw something she liked. She
certainly didn’t seem to mind the rash,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Finn!” she said, pretending to be
scandalized. “Oh the rash,” she covered her face with her hands for a second.
“I was hoping I imagined that part.”