Berlin, Germany-Austria Confederacy, 2263 A.D.
When the elevator doors shut and the car began to descend, Harriet Winslow leaned back against the wood-paneled walls and studied Brenden openly. “I’ve only met one other vampire. He isn’t at all like you.”
“You’re speaking of your brother-in-law, Richard Dansby?”
Her face showed a touch of surprise. “No one is supposed to know that,” she said slowly.
Brenden gave her a stiff smile. “We all know of each other, ma’am. Sometimes directly, sometimes by reputation. Your brother-in-law prefers to remain as human as he can, which is why he doesn’t advertise that he is vampire. That’s one difference between us.”
“Call me Harriet,” she said. “You don’t care to be considered human? But you are human.”
“I was human,” he qualified. “That was a very long time ago. Even vampires are changed by the passing of time.”
“Time is clearly the most powerful force in the universe, then, if it can change you. I understood that you could never change. Not your age, your health, not even your mental state.” She straightened up from the wall as the elevator slowed. “You are not a Spartan anymore?”
Brenden stepped back, letting her emerge from the elevator ahead of him. “Your research on me was thorough, I see.”
She gave him a smile and stepped out, her legs swinging freely from the hip, as the gown flowed around her calves in soft folds. “It’s my job to know exactly who it is that steps through that door and why they want to speak to my husband.”
She waved at the receptionist with a lift of her hand and strode past him, heading for the glass entryway. Brenden barely had to shorten his steps to keep pace with her. “Should you have a coat?” he asked curiously.
“There’s no need,” she assured him and pushed the door open.
Chilled air touched them. Germany felt nearly as chilly as Oslo, which was saying something. But the brisk air didn’t seem to bother Harriet Winslow. She moved across the pavement, her shoes clicking with a light, feminine sound, her legs swinging easily under the expensive folds of her gown. Brenden realized he was watching her rear curves and the way the dress outlined them. He jerked his gaze back to the limousine at the curb.
The limo was the latest in zero-impact tech. The Mercedes Benz-Volvo brand was by far the most luxurious in Europe. The door slid open just as Harriet Winslow reached it and she stepped into the car with barely a break in her stride.
Brenden followed, aware that he wasn’t anywhere near as graceful. His size forced him to double over and shuffle through whenever he got into cars or moved through small doorways. At least he didn’t have to turn sideways to get his shoulders through this opening. The standard two-foot-wide doors from a few centuries ago had always been an issue for him, until wider doors became the norm.
He settled himself on the other seat from the one Harriet Winslow sat upon. She had placed herself in the corner, the dress once more flowing away from her knees, which were crossed. Her ankles rested together and were pushed just to one side so the gleaming flesh of her lower legs made an elegant angle.
The door closed automatically behind him and the car pulled away from the curb.
“No belts?” Brenden asked.
“We’re staying on the ground,” Harriet told him. “The headquarters for our security detail is just across the city. It will only take a few moments.”
Whoever was controlling the car was good. The car was moving and breaking with perfect smoothness. Given what he had seen of the Winslows so far, the driver was probably the best of his type and paid very well.
The environmental controls in the car were flawless, too. He couldn’t sweat, but he could feel the heat against his skin.
“You might want to take your coat off, Mr. Christos. The temperature is regulated by my biometrics and I’m not rugged up like you are.”
“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “I don’t feel the heat.”
“Or the cold,” she added. “Does that mean you only feel what is just right?” And she smiled. It was a very different smile from those she had given him in the penthouse office. It wasn’t just the smile. It was her eyes, too.
Startled, Brenden considered her anew.
“Do you know Berlin very well, Mr. Christos?” she asked. It was an innocuous question.
“I’ve spent time here, but long ago. Before the dome was built.”
“Very little has changed under the dome from when it was first built. You might find you remember more than you believe, if you were to visit the old city.”
“We don’t get to forget anything,” Brenden said gruffly and wondered why he was rubbing his nature in her face like that. She was only being polite.
“Ah, yes, of course,” she replied smoothly. “Never forgetting anything must make reflections upon happy times a rich experience.”
There was nothing in her words but simple charm, but Brenden shifted on the seat, uneasy. He looked at her. “Are you flirting with me?” he demanded flatly.
Her smile held the same secret knowledge as the previous one. “I’m quite sure your ego is not easily swayed by flattery.”
“Yet you try to flatter me by judging my ego to be above the very same flattery.”
Her smile this time was full of promise.
Brenden looked out the window and not to check the view. He already knew exactly where they were going. The address for the security headquarters had surfaced when he had been researching Winslow, but it had been described as a holding company address, the only other one in Berlin itself. Once Harriet Winslow had said they were staying in Berlin, he had summarized their destination.
Instead, he looked out to give himself time to pull his reaction together.
He looked back at Harriet Winslow. “I wonder if you properly know what you’re playing with.”
“I don’t play, Mr. Christos.”
“You know what I mean,” he said sharply.
“I do.” She rested her hand on her crossed knee and the long slender fingers curled over the edge. They were manicured, but short, unlike the latest fashion that seemed to call for an impractical length. “You are referring, of course, to the fact that you are a vampire.”
She said it with the same inflection she might have used if he had been religious, or an off-worlder. It made it sound like a minor impediment that interested her very little.
“You have a vampire as a brother-in-law, but he passes as human. If you think you know us because you know your brother-in-law, you’re sadly misinformed.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said. Her voice was smooth and mellow. “I see people drawing blood and drinking it, every day in boardrooms around the world. They’re metaphorical vampires, it is true, but they are just as ruthless about acquiring their wants as any real vampire. It makes vampires like you a refreshing change. You’re open about what you are and what you need.”
Brenden didn’t want to be amused by her, but humor was warming his belly. “That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of being honest.”
“It’s a forgivable sin,” she replied, her smile growing warm once more. “Although duplicity is a part of your nature, isn’t it?”
“Not since the Revelation,” Brenden pointed out.
“I wonder, did you find that a relief? Not having to pretend to be human, generation after generation?”
“It came with its own problems,” Brenden muttered.
“But you were raised to slaughter Persians,” she pointed out. “There are not too many other lifestyles that are more straightforward. I would imagine the simplicity is something that continues to appeal to you.”
He studied her. Openly, this time. She didn’t seem to mind the examination.
“You’re anything but simple,” he said.
“But my wants and needs are very simple.”
“I doubt that.” She might be looking for her next bed partner, but she wasn’t singling out a twenty-year-old garden boy to fill her needs. Her tastes were far more sophisticated. There still remained one question. Why him? There was a range of possibilities and some of them were disturbing.
“Have you grown bored with your latest paramour?” he asked, testing one possibility.
“Bored and looking for a new diversion?” she concluded. “I can see why you might think that.”
The car came to a gentle stop and she glanced out the window, then smiled at him. It was the gracious hostess smile. “I’ll show you through and introduce you to the manager.” She slid along the seat to the door, which moved aside obligingly.
Her rear view as she stepped out was enticing and Brenden’s body tightened in response. She was getting to him, he realized.
The Winslow estate’s security command center was a sleek, proto-modernist design that blended in with the centuries-old buildings around it, but still managed to look very new at the same time. There were three floors, which matched every other building, but the lead-lined windows were polarized. Brenden assumed they would also be bullet and explosion-proof. The stonework around them would be a thin fascia. There would be plasteel beneath and it would be thick.
This building, unlike the theatre in Oslo, didn’t bother with hidden cameras. There were four security cameras that Brenden spotted without trying, including one right over the front door, a box half the size of his fist, colored to blend in with the stone work.
Harriet Winslow swept up to the door. It opened without hesitation, allowing her to step through without breaking her pace.
Brenden hurried after her. He wondered if the door would shut in his face, but the software running it was of the same high quality as everything else he had learned about the Winslows. Because he was with Harriet Winslow, it let him through.
There was a guard in a uniform standing on the other side of the door, but all he did was smile in welcome at Harriet Winslow, who was already moving past him.
“Where is Sakow, Pattison?” she called.
“He was heading for his office to meet you, ma’am!” Pattison called after her. He nodded at Brenden as he passed.
If the guard wasn’t going to do any scanning it meant they had passive scanners already in place. There was no way they’d let a total stranger walk around their command center without even minimal scanning, even if he was with the owner’s wife. That meant the scanners were probably a part of the archway, ahead. There was a lintel over the broad steps leading up to the drop shafts. Possibly there.
Or built into the walls themselves. If they had constructed this building themselves, the Winslows could have included anything they wanted.
Brenden was here on legitimate business, so he didn’t sweat over identifying everything that was pointed at him. Harriet Winslow was his security pass. He hurried to catch up with her.
The security manager was a grizzled veteran of off-world campaigns. He had a bionic leg that hadn’t been fitted properly and made him limp. He’d probably lost the leg wearing a spacesuit that had been compromised during a battle. Thirty years ago, battle suits would contract to preserve integrity and air. A damaged limb was severed by the suit, to preserve the seal, right there and then. Massive stay-happy and pain-killer injections would keep the soldier unaware of the trauma until he was picked up.
Suits had improved since then, but because the veterans of the old campaigns were mercenaries rather than state soldiers, many of them had never been properly rehabilitated.
Uncas Sakow thrust his hand out to Brenden when Harriet Winslow introduced him. He sized Brenden up in one sweeping glance. Brenden didn’t know what Sakow thought, for he didn’t give away anything. “The Majestic is part of a passive watch system we set up,” Sakow said, once Harriet explained why they were there. “Kid called Meadows runs the show down there.”
“Reliable?” Brenden asked.
“Gifted,” Sakow replied. “He actually likes what he does.”
That probably meant he wouldn’t put his job in jeopardy, or grow bored and miss things.
Sakow limped over to the door. “Let’s check with him,” he said.
Harriet stayed alongside Brenden this time, as they follow Sakow through the building to old-fashioned stairs. Sakow gave them a small smile. “My leg doesn’t like the drop shafts,” he explained, as he gripped the bannister and hobbled down the steps one awkward lunge at a time.
Stairs didn’t seem to agree with him, either.
They walked down three flights, telling Brenden there was more to this building below ground than there was above. That wasn’t unusual these days, but none of the floors they were passing now had shown in the electronic directory Brenden had glanced at on the way through the foyer.
The room Sakow showed them to was dim, with screens providing most of the light. “This is every passive watch we control, right here,” Sakow said. He nodded toward a young guy who was stepping out of a more normal-looking office tucked behind a big glass window. “That’s Meadows,” he said.
“He runs this place by himself?” Brenden asked.
“There’s a staff, but they keep normal business hours,” Sakow explained. “Meadows,” he continued as the man reached them. “Someone hijacked one of your feeds and published it.”
Meadow’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not possible,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “We control the feeds very carefully. Every minute is accounted for. I personally oversee the scrubbing.”
“How often do you scrub?” Brenden asked. If it was once a year, then the old footage could have been lifted and duplicated without anyone knowing.
“Daily,” Meadows said flatly. “We keep footage for a month, then the oldest 24 hours is scrubbed from the archive at midnight each night.” He was speaking more to Harriet Winslow and Sakow, than Brenden, but his gaze flickered over Brenden as he spoke.
Meadows knew who Harriet was, then. He was keeping his boss and the owner of his company happy.
“So footage is actually stored for thirty days,” Brenden clarified. It was still time enough for some enterprising soul to raid and collect what he needed.
“The footage with nothing interesting is kept for thirty days,” Meadows clarified. He waved behind him toward all the screens. “This is passive watch, but the software analyzing the feeds is very sophisticated. It flags anything unusual, so one of the daily tasks is to check what has been flagged. Anything interesting is put aside. Storage for that archive is permanent. It is also the most secure location on our servers.”
“What if the system flashes something that is more urgent?” Harriet Winslow asked. “Something that needs immediate response?”
“There’s always someone on shift here,” Meadows replied. “They would arrange for response teams, if they were needed, but in my seven years here, that has never happened. They call this the graveyard watch for a reason.” His smile was small, but there was genuine amusement there.
Sakow scrubbed at his bristly face. “What about the Majestic Theatre?” he asked.
“Oslo?” Meadows clarified. “There hasn’t been anything flagged from there for months and months. Over a year, now I think back.”
“Then there’s a flaw in your software,” Brenden growled. “Something happened last month that should have at least been flagged.”
Meadows pressed his lips together. “You have to understand,” he said slowly, “the programs we use are very sophisticated. They’ve been built upon military grade applications that have been developed in the field to meet exacting standards. This wasn’t developed just last year, or even in the last decade. The algorithms and the subroutines have been around for over a century and with each new generation they are improved upon. If something happened a month ago at the Majestic Theatre, the system would have picked it up.” Meadows shrugged. “I think your information must be faulty. Or the footage that was published was faked.”
Brenden sighed mentally. “Not possible. I was in that footage and I was at the theatre.”
Meadows studied Brenden openly. “I begin to understand,” he said. “The footage compromises you in some way. That’s why it’s out there and that’s why you’re tracking it back.” Then he stirred and stood a little bit straighter. “But I assure you, nothing has been smuggled out of this office.”
“Let’s just review the archives, shall we?” Sakow said gently.
Meadows shrugged again, smiling. “By all means,” he said affably. “It is an opportunity to prove I am right.”
It took Brenden five hours to review all the footage and in that time, Harriet Winslow didn’t leave. She sat on a chair behind him, leaving him to work without interruption. Sometimes she went and found herself coffee or other refreshments and Sakow brought her lunch on a tray.
Meadows stayed in his office, his door shut, bent over reading boards. Brenden didn’t notice him look up once.
Finally, Brenden sat back, the chair creaking as it accommodated the movement. He blew out his breath.
“There is nothing there?” Harriet Winslow asked.
“That’s the problem,” Brenden said, studying Meadows behind the glass. “There should be.”
Harriet moved over to the station next to the one Brenden was using and pulled out the chair there. She turned it to face him and sat down with the effortless grace that made watching her move so pleasant. She gave him a small smile. “Perhaps this is the wrong feed?”
“It’s the same one. The same angle. I went back to the three minutes when I was behind the theatre. I’m not in the footage. Neither is the…other person.”
She pressed her lips together. “Has it been tampered with?” she asked. “That’s the only other possibility.”
“It is,” Brenden agreed. “But if this has been doctored, then they’re better than me at it. I can’t find a single trace of changes, not even in the source coding.”
Harriet considered. “The tape you have can’t be a fake. You were there and you remember being there. Someone recorded you behind the theatre and you say that this is the same angle. So the footage did exist. It’s just not here now. Ergo, someone did tamper with the footage. They removed the vital three minutes.”
He liked that she wasn’t questioning whether the incriminating footage actually existed. He had given her a copy and although she hadn’t looked at it, she trusted him. That was unusual.
She tapped the desk with her fingers. It was a quick nervous mannerism, unlike every other studied and graceful gesture she made. Her attention had been diverted by this. Brenden had a feeling that didn’t happen often with her. She would need laser focus to get through the sort of day that Winslow’s business affairs would create.
“It has to be one of Meadow’s people,” she said at last. “As much as I don’t like that conclusion, there is no other.” She looked at Brenden for confirmation.
“You’re right. It’s not a happy conclusion,” he said. “Would Meadows be willing to give you access to his personnel files?”
Harriet got to her feet. “Let’s find out.”
Meadows wasn’t happy. Not in the slightest. “I hand-picked every one of my team!” he protested. “I would trust them with my life!”
“What you know about them has changed since you brought them aboard,” Brenden said, as gently as he could. “Life happens. People get sick, get old, relatives get into trouble. Addictions, criminal problems. Hell, someone might even be putting the squeeze on one of them for some indiscretion they’d rather have buried. If you haven’t monitored your people’s personal lives since you hired them, I guarantee that something has changed for at least one of them, that they haven’t shared with you. Whatever that is, it’s leverage. Either for someone else to use against them, or for them to justify stealing security footage.”
Meadows blinked. His hand was fisted at his side and his keen glance was inward. “I will talk to them,” he said stiffly.
“I’ll sit in with you,” Brenden added.
“No.” Meadows said it flatly. “You’re not a part of this company. I have no idea who you are besides being Mrs. Winslow’s guest. No offence, but I don’t think it’s fair to expect people to air their personal problems in front of a stranger.”
Harriet laid her hand on Brenden’s arm. “I’ll do it,” she said softly. “If that will satisfy you?”
The touch of her hand was soft, barely felt through the layers of jacket and shirt, but warmth seemed to radiate through his arm, anyway. Brenden forced himself not to look at her hand. “Very well,” he said, trying to sound gracious about it. But the delay irked him. He couldn’t demand they pull everyone into the office on their day off. They would wait until everyone arrived on Monday. Personnel interviews took time. Brenden had done enough of them himself to know how all the delicate stepping around of sensibilities could chew up the minutes. This would take days.
“How many staff?” he asked Meadows.
“Seventeen, who work directly with the feeds. Twenty-three counting support staff.” Meadows sounded almost truculent. He didn’t like having even Harriet Winslow involved.
He was protecting his team, Brenden reminded himself. It was something Brenden would probably do, too. He would be pissed as hell if a stranger stepped onto the station and declared that someone in Brenden’s security staff was corrupt.
But it didn’t take away the fact. Someone had screwed with the tape and someone had smuggled out footage that made Brenden and vampires in general look very bad indeed. This was the source of the video, so that someone was from here.
Brenden tried to forgive Meadows for his prickly defensiveness. He glanced at the time readout on the wall. “I appreciate your time,” he told Meadows, “and the use of your facilities.”
“We can conduct the interviews over the next few days,” Harriet said, “and I’ll let you know the results.”
Meadows was still scowling.
“One more thing,” Brenden said. “It’s unrelated, but I’d very much like to know. Where is the camera hidden, behind the theatre? I turned that place upside down and scanned it every which way and I couldn’t find it. It was brilliantly hidden.”
Meadow’s face changed. He brightened. “Thank you,” he said, with sincere pleasure. “I developed that camera myself. It has a one millimeter aperture and it’s only three millimeters in total width.”
Brenden was startled. He let his admiration show. “I hope you patented it,” he said.
Meadow’s cheeks turned pink. “The size isn’t anything new. I couldn’t patent it, but I did patent the shielding system. The camera won’t show up on infrared, ultra violet, gamma or any of the usual scans.” He lifted his hands, excitement energizing him. “I designed the camera specifically for that placement. Oslo is usually cold, so I shielded for heat, too.”
“That’s why I couldn’t find it,” Brenden said. “I’ve never seen a camera shielded for heat.”
“I had to find a way to mask the heat differential,” Meadows said. “The smaller the camera, the hotter it runs. At three millimeters, it would have melted the ice on the outside of the façade where it was mounted.”
“Which was where?” Brenden asked curiously.
Meadows laughed. “I would love to tell you, but the camera is still operational, so it falls under trade secrets for right now.”
Harriet Winslow rested her hand on his arm again and once more, the heat seemed to penetrate to his bones. No shielding there, he thought.
“I’ll take you home,” Harriet told him softly. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Meadows. I will see you on Monday.”
Meadows nodded and Brenden added his own thanks, before letting Harriet lead him out of the building. She had failed to remember—or perhaps she simply didn’t know—that he could have seen himself home from the spot he was standing on.
So why hadn’t he pointed that out, found an unobstructed corner and jumped back to the station from here?
He was very aware that his arm still felt warm, where she had touched it.