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In his cramped office in the security building, Parry was hurriedly searching for a way to get an unofficial second autopsy on those mysterious corpses without questions being asked.
He ran fingers through the grey stubble of his hair, then stopped himself. His daughter had often reminded him that the habit gave away his agitation. Giveaway habits had mattered less these last few years since his career had stalled. No one had cared too much about what he was doing or what he was thinking, but if he went on playing this dangerous game with one of the nation’s most wanted outlaws...
There would be questions asked eventually and he would need to be ready to face them down. The photo of the dark-haired teenager stared back at him from the ruthless tidiness of his desk. No matter what the cost might be, he had to know if Jess was among those twenty-three corpses.
The brief phone call kept playing over in his head, as if Raine’s denial of any knowledge might suddenly be revealed as a web of lies. Had he lied about those corpses? Did that mean he would lie about other things, about not knowing what had happened to Jess? Breaking a promise made, a reassurance given, back on a moonlit trail above the Warren. A last faint thread of hope that Jess might still be alive.
Even if, as Parry feared, she had joined the Resistance.
No. his sense of Raine’s integrity persisted.
If the ranger commander had traced her, even if he knew she had been killed, he would have said so.
And now my last hope rests on the word of an outlaw.
He requisitioned the official records of registered forensics in the city, checking names against the list of Jess’ college friends, still stuck in his memory. One of the few things he had left of her. Only two cross-referenced, and one of them worked for the commercial security division.
He contacted the other one. Not that there was much difference between the Avarit franchise that ran the security services and the subsidiary that controlled the production and storage of processed food. Both were central to the regime’s system of citizen control, keeping the workforce at maximum output and profitability while maintaining food security through the frequent bad-weather cycles of failed harvests.
And both were under direct orders from the Avarit faction that controlled the government, siphoning profits directly to faction members. Still, if Jess had been making Resistance contacts when she was still at college, there was a better chance than zero that this friend of hers might agree to her father’s off-books request.
An hour later Parry was walking back to the small park he had used earlier to call Raine, through almost-deserted streets waiting for the twelve-hourly eruption of workers at shift-changeover. The park lay between the central core of five-floor city blocks and the broad outer ring of cramped housing apartments that sheltered the city’s workforce. The slight rise of land gave him a long view across to the ranks of tall wedge-shaped buildings, their solar cladding grey under the low clouds.
The park itself was little more than a square of cracked paving and heavy concrete benches. Parry knew further damage to his career would be the least of his worries if Burton discovered he had been using the place to make contact with an outlaw on their clandestine coms network. Still, this bench had no doubt been chosen as a hotspot because of its lack of camera surveillance––and that was something Parry needed if this meeting was going to pass unnoticed.
A young research analyst named Joe Hilman was perched on the other end of the stone slab, the unruly strands of his fair hair stirring in the damp breeze coming off the river. Joe watched Parry’s approach apprehensively through his heavy glasses, pressing his hands on his knees in a failed attempt to stop them shaking with nervous tension.
“Colonel? I know you said it was urgent, but I had to fake that I was coming down with that new virus to get time off to meet you. Why a second opinion? And why me? I can access the data but I’m a food chemist, not a pathologist.”
Parry gave an apologetic shrug, hoping to reassure someone he had not seen since Jess’ funeral six years ago. He fought back the urge to tell Joe he had faked his daughter’s death. The truth would do nothing to reduce the risk he was asking the young chemist to take and it would only add to the danger for Jess. If she was in fact still alive.
“Joe, it’s just that I’ve felt uneasy about mysterious deaths since Jess... I can’t explain, but can you do it?”
Joe seemed cautious, unwilling to commit.
“Sir... I never thought you would bend from the establishment line. This is more like Jess than her dad. A clandestine re-examination of a military target?”
Parry stared at the ground, not wanting to ask again, hating himself for playing the emotions of one of his daughter’s friends.
After a long pause Joe held out his hand.
“I’ll do it. Just this once. For Jess.”
“Thanks. Here’s the list of questions I’d like answered.” Parry handed him a slip of paper.
Joe glanced at it and his eyes widened in alarm. He stuffed it in his pocket and walked out of the park.
*
Raine checked his handset for hazard updates from the city hive, then navigated the slalom course through the Tarn’s office detritus to the rough gravel driveway outside the greystone farmhouse.
Fin was packing a heavily loaded jeep with medical supplies, apparently oblivious to the persistent drizzle still spitting in windswept bursts across the moorland. Even with reinforced suspension the back of the vehicle was sagging as she rammed boxes and bags inside.
Raine guessed that offering assistance to defeat the virus had given her the opportunity she had been waiting for, to re-stock the city clinics with herbal tinctures unavailable within the heavily-guarded perimeter fence.
Fin heard the crunch of his footsteps and looked up, pushing wet tendrils of greying hair out of her eyes.
“Ah. Raine. We’re nearly done. Might as well update the general supplies––we don’t have much to help with a virus beyond these new neuropulse devices. How the tech team managed to find time to build even this number in all the upheaval after the evac...” She pushed the three electronic immune-stimulants into the glove box. “So, how do we get through the city perimeter?”
“Use the western checkpoint, guides will meet you and take you to the safe house.”
“You said I’d be pilot. Who’s the guide?”
“As far as I know, it should be Razz, but you need to be prepared for last minute changes. The road surfaces have been getting worse since you last drove that route. It could take you more than six hours and a lot can change in that time––apparently it’s still volatile down there with enforcer patrols trying to intercept people they assume are coming into the city from the Warren.”
Fin hesitated. “Raine, I want to take Bel to the city with me. She needs to keep her mind on... other things for a while.”
“Sure. You’re the expert. But you’re in command till you get there and hand over to the volunteers at the free-clinic. Bel needs a break from responsibility for a while.”
Fin’s hesitation shifted rapidly back to her usual autocratic manner.
“I would expressly forbid you to ask her to lead again so soon after what happened with Greg. Medic’s orders.”
Raine hoped he was not about to make another decision that would turn out badly.
“I haven’t told the city team that Greg was killed in the attack on the Warren. I thought it better if you did it in person. If anyone can sense how and when to break it to Kit while he’s dealing with so much responsibility as team leader... seeing as Greg was his closest friend. I’ll trust your judgement on that.”
Bel came out of the house hefting a heavy hemp bag onto her shoulder with her usual athletic ease.
“That’s the last of the tincture bottles.” She pushed the bundle into the remaining space at the back of the driver’s seat and slid behind the wheel.
Raine noticed how she studiously avoided eye contact as if she sensed his concern, yet was still determined not to talk about the reason for it. Oddly, the only hopeful signs he noticed were the two tiny strands of blue silk still braided into her cropped hair.
He had never really understood her little rebellion against the rangers’ dark-camouflage discipline when she had first started training but now he found it reassuring, as if that mischievous, fearless, fun-loving spark was still alive, hidden deep inside her under the weight of guilt and loss.
He watched as she turned the jeep onto the rough track leading to the road. Fin was right. Bel needed work and action to find some distance from the memories haunting her, but the city was becoming more dangerous and unpredictable than it had ever been.
As she drove away he felt that familiar sense of unease that too often in the past had proved justified.