Sam watched Dodge sleep. Even the sound of the ringing phone did not disturb him at all. His face was peaceful. He lay curled in a ball on the floor of the office.
“Security, Gordon.” The security officer answered the call on speakerphone, as Sam had instructed.
“Gordon, it’s Ranger again. New information. The fugitives have changed their appearance, using wigs and beards. They have also changed their clothing.” Ranger went on to describe their outfits and appearance. Gordon noted it all down carefully, all the time staring at the people that were being described.
“Okay, got that,” Gordon said at last. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it for now. Keep us informed.”
Gordon hung up the phone.
“Good boy,” Vienna said pleasantly, aiming Gordon’s own gun at him.
Their CDD security IDs had got them through the door, and Vienna had swiftly relieved Gordon of his side-arm.
Gordon must have been in his fifties, Sam thought, and looked as though he had been doing this job all his life. His stomach hung heavy over a straining belt and if his nose reflected the state of his liver, then his liver was in real trouble. His complexion was ruddy, and his uniform wouldn’t recognise an iron. He hadn’t been happy when Vienna had taken his gun, and he looked less happy every minute.
Dodge stirred and snorted in his sleep. Sam looked at the tattoo on his forehead and hoped that wasn’t too close to the truth. Was Dodge’s brain now just a biohazardous wasteland?
“Should I wake him up?” Sam asked. “Isn’t it bad for people who have concussion, or something, to sleep?”
“Let him sleep,” Vienna said. “That concussion thing is just a myth. Right now his brain is trying to repair itself. Let’s just hope that when he wakes up he’s okay.”
“And if he isn’t?”
She didn’t reply.
Ranger retraced the steps of the three fugitive CDD agents through the main thoroughfare of the mall, stopping every few paces to close his eyes and compare the neuro-fed images from the security cameras with his surroundings.
Hutchens, a pace in front, ran interference, cutting a path for him through the crowd. Not that it took much doing: the black combat suits and helmets acted as a natural defoliant, a crowd repellent.
The dogs had picked up the trail of the fugitives in the rear storeroom of Walmart, but had lost it in the heavily trafficked main thoroughfare.
“Right here,” Ranger said. “This is the last image we have of them. After that they move out of range of the camera, and they don’t appear on the next one.”
He looked to the left and the right. To the right, a jewellery store with a huge fake diamond rotating slowly in the window joined onto a clothing store for teenagers.
“We’ve looked everywhere,” Hutchens said. “Storerooms, changing rooms, everywhere. And there are no rear exits.”
“Come with me,” Ranger said. “I want to pay a visit to our friend Gordon in security.”
“Where the bleedin’ hell are we?”
Sam jumped. He had almost nodded off. He spun around to see Dodge sitting up, looking around with suspicion and concern.
“Dodge! You’re awake!” he said with huge relief in his voice.
“And the sky is blue and the Bears are going to win the World Series,” Dodge said. “Is it ‘state the bleedin’ obvious day’ today or are you just practising for stupid school?”
“Tell me your name,” Sam said, peering as deeply as he could into Dodge’s eyes, not sure what he was looking for. He tried to remember the questions they asked on TV shows to see if a person was properly conscious.
“Fozzie Bear, what’s yours? Ya muppet.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Sam asked, holding up three.
“I dunno. How many fingers am I holding up?” Dodge replied, holding up just one middle finger. “Now where the bleedin’ hell are we?”
“Security centre at the Great Mall,” Vienna said from her chair at the control panel. The pistol sat on the desk in front of her, right by her hand. It still pointed at the guard.
“Why?” Dodge asked.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Sam asked.
Dodge furrowed his brow. “We were at CDD. Working. On the trail of the phantom. We …” he faltered.
“Let me fill in the blanks,” Sam said, and spent the next few minutes doing so.
“Who’s Ursula?” Vienna asked when he had finished. “You mentioned her a couple of times in your sleep.”
Dodge shook his head and got to his feet. He seemed a little shaky, and swayed back and forth, finally holding onto the wall to steady himself.
“Ursula,” he said vaguely, shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I know who’s doing this. I must have worked out most of it just before I got zapped. Figured out the rest while I was sleeping, I guess.”
“You know who the phantom is?” Sam asked.
“There is no phantom,” Dodge said. “There are no hackers, or terrorists, apart from those two that got wiped out.”
“Then who is it?” Sam asked.
“Who’s doing this?” Vienna asked almost simultaneously.
“We are,” Dodge said.