Paradigm (15 page)

“Not now.”

“Did you hear it when you were on the balcony.”

“Yes.”

“Where were you born?”

“San Francisco.”

“I knew it!” she leaned back and sipped at her wine. “He’s a locule.”

That word again. Drake had used it. Carolyn leaned forward and examined his face.

“Well, well, well. Amazing. And he seems perfectly fine.”

“Unless the fish toxin has some side effects. Remember what happened to Riley,” growled Setzen.

“That was different. He was already sliding, but this one…this one is perfectly sane. Fascinating. Of course, it means I won’t be able to kill him when he gets back.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think our client would appreciate it,” she said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Do you?”

Setzen grunted and went back to his seat. Phillida crawled into his lap again.

“Sam, would you like to do something for me?”

“I would like that.”

“Do you know where Mayor Longford keeps the Paradigm Device?”

“Yes, it’s in his office.”

“Tomorrow morning, you will go to City Hall, get the Paradigm Device and bring it back to me.”

“Yes I will.”

“Phyllida, keys!”

Phyllida rolled her eyes, extracted herself from Setzen and rooted around in her bag, eventually pulling out an elegant silver key chain which she took to Carolyn, who slipped the keys into Sam’s pocket.

“Sam, the keys to City Hall are in your pocket. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“I have some people inside who will help you if you get in trouble. What are you going to do?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to City Hall. I’ll use the keys to get inside, then I’ll go to the mayor’s office, get the Paradigm Device and bring it back to you.”

“Very good. You can sleep now, but you’ll remember this voice. This voice is you. You always do what your inner voice says.”

“Always.”

“Go to sleep.”

Sam closed his eyes and collapsed sideways onto Tiffany’s lap. She squeaked in surprise, then gently stroked his head.

“Such a shame,” she said.

“Hobbs, take him to his cell. Let him out at first light.”

Sam heard the snap of Hobbs’ fingers, before he was unceremoniously hauled from Tiffany’s comfortable lap and dragged out of the dining room and into the elevator. It took a surprising amount of concentration to stay limp all the way back to his cell and he was relieved when they finally dumped him on the bed, tossed his coat over him and slammed the door.

He lay in the dark, not daring to move. There was almost certainly a camera in the cell and he didn’t want to risk anyone realizing that the toxin hadn’t worked. After about an hour he heard the cell door open again, then close softly. Someone walked across the room, drew back the coat and pulled on his shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

“You idiot,” muttered a familiar voice. “I told you not to eat the fish.”

Chapter 13

S
am wanted to say something
. To wink or whisper, or just squeeze her hand, but he knew that even the smallest acknowledgement of her presence would be picked up by the cameras or microphones or whatever other surveillance devices Bast had installed.

So he just lay there, listening to her breathing and waiting.

After what was probably only minutes, but felt like hours, she sighed, turned and left. The door clicked softly behind her and Sam was alone again.

He rolled over and spent the rest of the night trying in vain to get some sleep. By five o’clock he gave up. Dawn would be breaking soon and they’d be expecting him to be awake. He had no way of knowing what people who were being controlled by the fish toxin looked like the morning after, but he guessed they’d seem normal except for a compulsion to do whatever they’d been told.

He stood up, put his coat on and stood in front of the door, waiting. At about six o’clock he heard the locks disengage. It was Levitt and Cranby again.

“I have to go,” he said, hoping he’d made his voice urgent enough without being too over-the-top.

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

He stepped out of the cell and looked around, as if he were anxious.

“You don’t understand. I have to go. I have a job.”

“Right. Man, I hate them when they’re like this.” Cranby steered him along the corridors and toward the door he’d first entered.

Setzen was waiting. Sam’s heart sank.

“Hold it.”

“You have to open the door,” said Sam.

“Yeah?” Setzen peered into his eyes. “Why’s that?”

“I have to go. I have a job.”

“What is your job?”

“I have to go to City Hall and get the Paradigm Device. Then I have to bring it back here.”

“Uh huh. Is that something you want to do?”

“No,” Sam adopted a slightly confused expression. “But I have to go.”

Setzen stared at him. Sam stared back. Setzen shook his head.

“Ok,” he said. “If he’s faking he’s doing a really good job. Let him out.”

Setzen moved aside and Levitt hit the door controls. Sam waited until the door was fully open, then stepped out into the grey dawn and walked away without hesitation. He heard the door slide shut but didn’t look back. He was free.

Against all the odds, he was free.

He breathed the cold air deep into his lungs as he walked through the early morning stillness. The buildings in the financial district gazed down on empty streets and even the huge central plaza was deserted, except for a couple of street sweepers clearing up the detritus of the day before, the bristles of their brooms creating an echoing beat as the city slowly awoke.

Sam didn’t stop or slow down. He was sure that DETH, Inc. had tapped into the ubiquitous security cameras and that some poor slob had been given the job of watching his every move. He wound his way through the warren of streets and alleys and eventually found himself in a narrow passage that didn’t have any cameras.

He stopped and leaned against the wall, finally able to drop the pretence and seriously consider his situation. He pulled Phyllida’s keys out of his pocket and looked at them. There were six, but he was willing to bet that none of them would open Nathan’s cell. Still, it looked like she probably had access to every other door in the place, which was good, because once he had the box and released Nathan they would need to get out of the city and back to the GTO as quickly as possible. The only safe route out would be the same way the police had brought them in: a tunnel under City Hall that led to a small underground lot where the cop cars were kept.

He sighed and gazed at the strip of sky overhead. Why on earth had he agreed to come to this godforsaken hole, anyway? The next time Nathan had an idea, no matter how sensible it might sound at the time, he would head in the absolute opposite direction. Nothing—no amount of money or barter—was worth this kind of aggravation. And as for the Paradigm Device, he wished he’d never heard of the wretched thing.

He stood up, stretched a little, resumed the slightly manic face that had convinced Setzen that he
was
under Carolyn Bast’s control, and strode out of the alley and past the last few blocks to City Hall.

The old building looked even more dilapidated in the stark morning light. The wide, gently curving steps were crumbling away and the once-stately columns that supported the perfectly angled pediment were peeling and worn. Still, appearances could be deceptive and even though his headquarters looked like it had seen better days, Sam knew that the mayor himself was pretty sharp. He decided against the front door and walked around to the back entrance, which was also bristling with cameras. He kept going and discovered that the far side closely abutted what appeared to be an office building. The space between was narrow and there was only one camera. He crept along the alley and discovered a single door, set in a niche. A perfect blind spot.

He took out the keys and tried each in the lock until one fit, then carefully turned the handle and pushed. It opened into what seemed to be some kind of service corridor, with grubby beige walls and a worn tile floor. There were ladders and boxes stacked against one wall and dusty spider-webs in the corners near the ceiling. Sam made his way to the nearest door, opened it and found himself back in the formal hallways of the ground floor, with their fading wallpaper and musty curtains.

The hallway was empty so he stepped out and closed the service door gently behind him, hoping against hope that the mayor and all his lackeys were late risers. Carolyn Bast had mentioned that she had operatives inside City Hall but hadn’t bothered to tell him who they were, which was really annoying and meant he’d have to treat everyone as an enemy.

He made his way along first one hall then another, straining to hear if anyone was coming while looking for something, anything, that would reveal where he was in relation to the mayor’s office. Finally, he saw a painting he recognized, and realized that his goal was just around the corner. He sped up, turned the corner…and walked right into the mayor’s assistant, Joyce.

“Sorry!” he blurted, instinctively. “Are you alright?”

She was so old and stick-thin, he was surprised he hadn’t knocked her off her feet. Then he remembered he was supposed to be thinking of nothing but the box and tried to regroup without much effect.

“I mean…um…”

“Quiet!” hissed Joyce, glancing around. “You’re late. Follow me.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. The mayor’s
secretary
was a spy? Carolyn Bast was good.

“I said, follow me!”

She marched toward the great double doors. Sam followed, fumbling for the keys.

“Put those away!” she barked, throwing the doors wide and standing aside to let him in. “Make it snappy. There’s a private entrance behind the desk. Take that when you leave.”

“What about the mayor?”

“You leave him to me. His tramp wife only got home about half an hour ago so they’re having their morning fight. Now, move!”

She closed the doors and Sam ran to the far side of the desk. There was no obvious sign of the box, but there was a locked cupboard that looked like it was just about the right size. He looked around, found a letter-opener in the shape of a dagger and prized the cupboard open.

There it was. Still wrapped in the monk’s ragged cotton cloth. Sam took it out and turned to leave, then stopped, turned back to the desk and forced the left-hand drawer open. It was still there. Cold and black and deadly. The gun.

He hadn’t touched one since that town outside of El Paso City. That was three years ago, and he still had nightmares, but this was an emergency and he suspected it would take more than charm and a smile to get Nathan out of that cell.

Sam took a deep breath, grabbed the gun and put it in his pocket, silently promising himself that he’d only use it in an emergency. Then he slipped out of the private door and walked quickly along several grubby corridors to the stairs that led down to the jail. He paused at the top and listened. Silence. He glanced back, adjusted the box under his arm, and ran down the four flights as quickly and quietly as he could.

He needn’t have worried, there was no one in the guard room.

“Man,” he muttered. “What kind of jail
is
this?”

The answer swiftly became clear—it was the empty kind. The cell he had shared with Nathan was vacant. Sam stared at it. How could that be? Had the mayor gone ahead and hanged him anyway? He ran from cell to cell, but all were empty. There wasn’t a single prisoner. Sam felt a gut-wrenching panic. Had it been more than forty-eight hours? Maybe the mayor had heard that Sam had failed to get the key. Maybe someone had seen him when Carolyn Bast caught him…or maybe…maybe the mayor had seen it himself. Yes, that made sense. But why not wait? Sam couldn’t imagine how terrified Nathan must have been. Maybe it was quick. He’d read that it could be quick. If the drop was high, and the hangman knew what he was doing, the neck would just snap and it would be over.

He paced up and down. The gun was in his hand now and he wanted to use it. He wanted someone to pay. All they’d done was run away! You don’t kill people for stuff like that!

He looked at the gun, then at the cell. It wasn’t going to help. Nothing would help.

He shoved the gun back in his pocket and headed up the stairs again. The only thing he could do now was make sure no one got their hands on the box. He had to get it as far away from civilization as he could, and that meant only one thing—back to the Wilds.

The old building was beginning to wake up for another day of wheeling and dealing, scheming and plotting. There was the sound of pans clanking in a distant kitchen, and men barking orders as doors slammed on upper floors. Footsteps scurried along corridors and the walls creaked, shifting and stretching as the feeble sun warmed the ancient timbers.

Sam darted through the passages, avoiding any area that seemed well-traveled. He hadn’t been paying too much attention when they’d been hauled up and into the cells, but he knew the garage had to be on the lower floors. A police car was his best chance of getting away quickly before the mayor realized the box was gone or Carolyn Bast twigged that he wasn’t coming back.

He skidded around a corner and froze as a door in front of him suddenly opened and disgorged Phyllida Longford, still wearing her party clothes, but with a face like thunder.

“You think you know it all, but you don’t know anything!” she screamed at the door. “You’re a fucking idiot! Poxy cowardly—”

The invective died on her lips as she turned and saw Sam.

“What are—”

“I have to go,” said Sam, adopting the slightly manic look that had worked so well on Setzen.

She hesitated, then walked over to him and stared into his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

“I have to—”

“Drop the act,” she muttered. “You’re no more under the influence of those fish than I am.”

Sam looked at her for a moment while he weighed his options, then shrugged.

“No,” he said. “I’m not. On the other hand, I have a gun.”

“Then I suggest you take it out. This needs to look convincing.”

“What?”

Phyllida stepped closer and spoke in an urgent whisper.

“The whole point of giving you my keys was so that I could be with the tub of lard that calls itself my husband when you stole the box. Now the box has gone and he’s got video of us talking right here in his precious city hall, so you’d better take me hostage pronto.”

“But what about the audio?”

“Deactivated. The old coot doesn’t want to risk anyone getting hold of the data and hearing his nefarious little plans. So, come on, get the gun out.”

Sam pulled the gun out slowly and looked at it, cold and grey in his hand.

“I’m not taking the box back to Carolyn Bast.”

“No shit, Sherlock. Where were you headed?”

“Uh…The garage. I was going to get a cruiser then go pick up my car.”

“Fine. Follow me, keep the gun up and try to look threatening.”

She turned and strode off down the corridor with Sam staggering behind, trying to do the threatening thing with one hand while attempting to hold on to the box with the other. It was heavier than it looked, and just that bit too big to easily fit under his arm.

“Keys.”

Phyllida stopped in front of a large door and held out her hand. Sam nearly crashed into her.

“Keys!” she repeated, as if they had done this a thousand times and he just couldn’t retain the plan.

Sam sighed, put the gun back in one pocket, retrieved the keys from another and handed them to her. She took them and glared at him until he got the gun out again.

“This isn’t going to look even remotely convincing,” he muttered.

“That’s my problem.”

She unlocked the door and led the way along another passage, down two flights of stairs and out into the garage.

The room seemed bigger than he remembered it, although the last time he was here he was mostly concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other while various irritated cops shoved him and Nathan toward the cells. It was a cavernous space, with a low ceiling and metal shelves on either side that held a collection of old parts, tires, rims, broken transmissions, canisters of various sizes, worn cardboard boxes and tools.

In the center were three ranks of police cars, only about half of which looked like they were running. The newest vehicles had an air of style and speed about them, but Sam knew they would have been the first to go. The computer chips that were ubiquitous in most pre-collapse vehicles rendered them almost impossible to repair and had forced people to return to older cars and trucks or give up on mobility entirely.

“D’you know which ones work?” he asked.

“Do I look like a mechanic?”

Sam glowered at her, put the gun back in his pocket and walked through the rows of cars to the main exit. It made sense that the cars nearer the ramp would be the ones that still functioned. He made a mental note of the numbers and returned to the entrance. There was a box next to the door with numbers scrawled above the hooks that held the keys. Sam located the ones for the three cars nearest the exit.