Zac had trained with Aubrey and had been one of ARES’ finest Mappers – Shifters who are able to plot out events and their consequences. But he came to believe the agency was lying to us all and had gone rogue, plotting to bring the whole organisation down. He’d been caught a few weeks ago by the Regulators and given a choice. Go legit or end up here. He’d chosen the cell.
While I’d not been down to see him, it was clear from the guard’s reaction that Aubrey was a regular visitor down here. A bubble of jealousy fizzed in my stomach.
“We’re here to interview Glenn,” Aubrey said, glaring at the man.
He considered her, looking her up and down, then turned to his fellow guard. “What do you think, Ben? Shall we let her through?”
“Remember what happened last time you tried to stop me?” Aubrey said, sounding bored. “How’s the knee?”
I saw the colour rise in the NSO’s cheeks. The other NSO, the one called Ben, was fighting to hold back a snigger. It looked as if Aubrey had already made quite the impression on these two.
“Cell 8,” he grunted and waved us along.
Aubrey pulled off a mock curtsey and when we were out of their eye-line, flicked her finger in their direction. “They are such tools,” she said.
We walked past the cells and their inhabitants. Most were bored-looking teenagers, lying on the metal beds just waiting to be released. In for small crimes, like cheating on exams or stuff like that. But a couple looked more serious. The guy in Cell 3’s face was covered in blue tattoos, including one on his forehead that read FATE. He snarled at us as we passed.
I heard a rhythmic grunting noise before I reached Cell 5. Zac had his bed turned on its side and was busy doing chin-ups. Stripped to the waist, the sweat glistening on his bare chest.
“Hey, Brey,” he said, finishing one last chin-up and lowering himself to the floor. “And if it isn’t Scott Tyler himself. Long time no see, Scott. How’s tricks?”
“Um… tricks are good, I guess,” I said, looking uncomfortably at the floor. “How are you hanging?” I winced at the unintentional pun.
Zac just laughed. “Oh, just counting down the days till I get out of here.”
“No sign of entropy then?” Aubrey said.
“If entropy even exists,” Zac said. “You know how I feel about it.”
“Well, that means you could be in here for years. Why don’t you just accept the offer and–”
“And what? Sell out on everything? Drink their Kool Aid?” he said, pointing at the ceiling. “Can’t you see what’s going on here, Brey? It’s worse than ever, with the Prime Minister getting his mucky paws all over this place. They want to control us. Crush us.”
“They want to protect us,” I said, annoyed at Zac’s conspiracy crap. Clearly being locked up hadn’t changed him.
He snorted. “Sure, if you want to believe that, go ahead.”
“What would it take to change your mind?” Aubrey said, holding on to one of the bars. “I hate to see you in there.”
The fizzing jealousy was dialled up a notch.
“If they just promised to leave me alone,” Zac said, holding the bar an inch above Aubrey’s hand.
Aubrey stepped back and shook her head. “Maybe one day, Zac. But not today.”
She turned to go and Zac called out after her. “You’ll come and see me again, won’t you? You too, Scott. Any time. I’m not going anywhere.” There was a desperation in his voice that sounded so very un-Zac. Aubrey scrunched her eyes, blocking out his pleas, as we walked on to Cell 8.
Glenn was sitting quietly on his metal bed, squinting in the bright light, his hands still in cuffs.
I tutted. “Lane should have taken them off him. He’ll be no use if he’s still fogged up.”
“Mr Glenn,” Aubrey said. “Could you stand up and walk over here?”
Glenn obeyed, but he moved sluggishly, as if he was drunk. He approached the bars and leant his head against them, propping himself up.
“Turn around,” Aubrey said, and again, he did what she said.
I reached in and unlocked the cuffs. He staggered back, blinking and looking around as if he was only just waking up.
Aubrey pulled out her tablet and brought up Glenn’s file. “OK, Mr Glenn,” Aubrey said. “As our colleagues have no doubt already explained, you’re being charged with Shifting without a licence and using your power for monetary gain. But I’d like to talk to you about a certain matter of being in possession of stolen goods, too.”
Glenn looked confused. “Stolen goods?”
I tapped my forehead. “That bit of brain you have implanted in there, the bit that gave you your powers; yeah, well, it doesn’t belong to you.”
“What are you on about?”
“Come on, Jack,” Aubrey said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what went on at Project Ganymede. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about what they were doing to the kids.”
Glenn took a few steps back and sat down on the bed. “Sure, I was part of Project Ganymede. But I don’t know anything about any kids.”
Aubrey looked at him, feigning disbelief. But the truth was, none of the volunteers had really known what had been involved. They’d been taken in for an operation, woken up with their Shifting power returned to them, and been sent back to work, no questions asked.
Aubrey sighed. We both hated this bit. “The only reason you’re able to still Shift today is because the part of the brain responsible for the power was cut out of a kid’s head and implanted into yours.”
“And that child was left in a vegetative state,” I said.
“What? I… I don’t know…”
“A vegetable, Mr Glenn,” Aubrey said. “A child was turned into a vegetable, just so you could have your power back.”
Glenn leant back on the bed, blinking even more. “I didn’t know anything about that. If I’d known, I would have never… never…” He covered his face with one huge hand. “Take it back,” he said. “I don’t want it anymore.”
“It’s too late for that, I’m afraid,” I said, almost feeling sorry for him.
“Then what do you want with me?” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
I stepped forward, my face an inch away from the bars. “We want to keep you under observation, Mr Glenn. Other members of Project Ganymede have experienced, shall we say, side effects? We wanted to know if you’ve been having any trouble?”
“Trouble? No, no trouble.”
“No fits of rage? Delusions of grandeur?” Aubrey said, tapping at a report on her screen. “What about this incident last month when you broke a man’s nose for standing too close?”
“He was asking for it, he was.”
“Exactly how was he asking for it, Mr Glenn? Was he breathing too loudly for you?” I said.
“I was trying to have a quiet drink, right? And this guy comes up to me and challenges me to a fight. There and then. He thought he was a big shot. But I knew that he was just a nobody. They’re all nobodies.”
Aubrey and I exchanged a look.
Not all of the Ganymede men showed signs of the psychosis or whatever the hell it was that turned them into lunatics. So far, out of the six we’d brought in, only three had been on the brink of total bonkerdom. This guy looked as if he wasn’t far behind.
I saw Aubrey type a note on Glenn’s file. “Psych Eval Needed.”
“There’s also the small matter of a bomb in your frontal cortex,” she said, without taking her eyes off the screen.
“My what?” he said, standing up.
“In your brain,” Aubrey said, looking up at him. “Dr Lawrence placed a small bomb in the brain of some of his subjects so that he could do away with them if he wanted. All it needs is a signal sent from a mobile phone and boom. You’re dead.”
Glenn started scratching furiously at his scar. “Get it out. Get it out!”
“We will. But only if you cooperate with us,” I said, swallowing down my discomfort. I’d seen one of these cortex bombs blow up at close quarters and it was not something I ever wanted to see again.
Glenn moved his hand away from his head and stood very still, as if worried that the smallest movement might set the bomb off.
“What do you want to know?” he said.
“Frank Anderson. Where do we find him?”
Glenn sniffed and his eyes twitched. “What do you want with Frankie?”
“We just want to speak to him. Just like you.”
Frank “Frankie” Anderson was the final name on our list. And so far the one we’d had the least luck in locating. Absolutely nothing came up on ARES’ database when we did the search, which either meant he was an unregistered Shifter or, the idea that really intrigued us, he’d not been a Shifter at all. What we all wanted to know was: could you make someone into a Shifter who’d never been one before?
Glenn let out a controlled breath, like someone about to jump off a diving board. “I’ve not seen Captain Anderson in over fifteen years. So, I don’t think I can help you. And even if I could, I wouldn’t. The Captain saved my life.”
“You’re willing to risk that bomb going off just to protect this Anderson, is that what you’re telling us?” Aubrey said.
Glenn nodded, stiffly, making the smallest movement possible.
“Well, if you’re quite certain, Mr Glenn. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay with us. You don’t mind needles, do you?”
I heard a cough from behind us. The two NSOs were now flanking a man in a white lab coat, here to take Glenn away for further evaluation. I’d heard whispered rumours about what went on during “evaluation”. About how they tried to find out as much about the men who’d gone through the process as possible. About the secret operations taking place in the agency labs. But this place was filled with rumours.
I nodded at the doc as we passed. “He’s all yours,” I said.
I heard a crash. It sounded as if Glenn was putting up a fight again.
“Captain?” Aubrey said as we headed for the lifts, ignoring the ruckus coming from the interview room. Lane and Lottie could handle it themselves. They’d been through the same training we all had, after all. And they had the NCOs for back up if needed.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s the first we’ve heard Anderson called that. Do you think he was their leader?”
“Maybe. It might explain why none of them seem willing to give him up,” Aubrey said.
“Yep, another dead end. So what do we do?” I said. “Apart from working our way through all the Frank Andersons in the country?”
“I don’t know,” Aubrey said, pressing the call button. “But I know one thing.”
“Which is?”
“When today is over, I need a drink.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Bailey’s Bar, formally known as Copenhagen’s Gambling Club, had a queue twenty people long. It had taken Sir Richard a while to work out what was really going on at Copenhagen’s – the Shifter controlled gambling, the blind eye turned to a “misappropriation” of Shifters’ skills – but once he had, the place had been shut down.
Rosalie had been a croupier at the club – when she wasn’t hanging out with revolutionary organisations. And when it closed she found herself out of a job. And with entropy on its way, she knew she’d have to get a proper job. So she decided to open up a bar in the same place. The previous owner just handed her the keys and went off to live in Malaga with his ageing mum. Within a few weeks Bailey’s Bar had become one of London’s coolest hotspots, filled each night with office workers and students desperate to dance away another boring day. Other people from ARES still came to hang out when off duty. But no one was allowed to Shift once inside the doors. Bailey’s rather miserable doorman made sure of that.
“Dick!” Aubrey said as we approached. “How’s life?”
Richard Morgan junior, son of Sir Richard, formerly our commandant, was now working at Bailey’s using his fading powers to stop Shifter kids from changing decisions, like which drink to have or who to ask to dance. It would be depressing if he hadn’t been such a massive arse.
Morgan closed his eyes and dropped his head to the floor as we approached. “Yes, yes, come to have a good old laugh, have we?”
“No,” Aubrey said, patting him on the arm. “Good to see you, Richard. Honestly.”
Morgan, who was never very good at resisting Aubrey’s charms, brightened. “How are things at ARES?” he asked.
“Well, not as much fun as when you were in charge,” I said.
“Yeah, your dad’s a real ball breaker. I wish you were back at the helm.”
“Well, he’s under a lot of pressure,” Morgan said. “According to Mother – I’ve not spoken to him in months.” He rubbed a drop of rain off his black bomber jacket. “Anyway, you didn’t come here to chat with me, clearly. Go on.” He stepped aside, lifting the red rope that blocked the door, and let us pass, ignoring the moans from those still in the queue.
I turned back to offer a grin of apology and saw a man standing at the back of the queue who was so out of place I was surprised Morgan hadn’t already told him to push off. He had mats of dark hair and a thick, wiry beard. Not the kind of beard you saw on hipsters. The kind you saw on homeless people. And I guessed that’s what he was. Perhaps hoping to come inside just to keep warm. I hoped Morgan wasn’t too rough on him. He didn’t look as if he’d had an easy time of it. His grey eyes, peering out from the nest of hair, were filled with sadness.
“I actually feel sorry for him,” Aubrey said once we were inside.
“Huh?” I said, thinking she meant the tramp.
“Morgan. It must be hard having fallen so low. It’s almost Shakespearean,” Aubrey said.
“Yeah, I guess.”
As soon as Aubrey pulled open the doors the music hit me. Beyond, the room was packed with people jumping in time to a pounding beat. They were pushed up against each other, arms raised, as if they were showering in the sound. I pulled off my jacket and threw it over my shoulder. I was off duty now. Finally.
Bailey’s was done out like a circus, with red and white striped material hanging from the ceiling and strings of lights wrapped around long red poles. Instead of stools, the bar had trapeze bars hanging on golden ropes for the clientele to swing on as they drank. The bar staff wore sexy versions of clown outfits. It was all an homage to Rosalie’s past as part of the famous Bailey’s Circus. There was even a statue of an elephant stuck in the middle of the dance floor. I patted it as I passed, remembering the night Aubrey, Rosalie and I had stolen it from the street around the corner.