Her world need not be defined by my mistakes, my failures, her world could be
But even there I failed.
And I look and it seems that she is condemned to be a slave to a path that is the only one available, just like her mum, just like…
I think that’s it. That’s all.”
For a while they sat in silence. Markse waited for Theo to look away, and Theo didn’t.
Finally: “Tell me about Ascot.”
“We stole Mala Choudhary’s identity. Her financial details. We used them to transfer money from Choudhary to Atkins, and from Faircloud Associates to Choudhary. Helen contacted Atkins, claiming to be acting for Choudhary, and contracted a hit against herself. We thought it was more plausible, given everything, if the target was Helen. Helen had embarrassed her son, gone on record testifying against him. It was not inconceivable that someone would want her taken out, maybe even Philip. Far more likely than someone going after Philip directly. Helen knew her son would be at Ascot. We stole a car a week in advance, parked it by the gate at the back, told Atkins that this was Helen’s car. It’s surprising how people come to the patty queen’s cause. People want something to believe. We planted our own bomb near the car, as back-up in case Atkins didn’t go for it. We just needed Atkins to be there, for someone to trace that connection from her to Choudhary to Faircloud to the Company. Then it was a case of making sure that Helen and Philip ended up in close proximity. If it went wrong, Helen would be dead or locked up drugged to her eyeballs. When I first met her she was… but she said yes. She said it was more important to make things right—that was her phrase, ‘make things right’—than what happened to a foolish old woman. That was her too. ‘Foolish old woman.’ She was proud of those words. They were something people had said to her a lot, and she liked saying them when she knew they were a lie. She knew a lot about herself. I found that inspiring. She had this certainty. Dani had it too.Our bomb wasn’t very good. Didn’t need to be. But it triggered Seph’s. Seph’s bomb was too good. We’d always known it might be. It’s just… that was always a risk.
Philip of course, he was… I imagine they put you on the case, yes? A manhunt for whoever tried to kill the minister of fiscal efficiency?”
“They did. Seph Atkins stood out immediately; confessed for the discount.”
Theo nodded at nothing much. “Figured she would.”
“But her story didn’t make sense, so I looked again. You weren’t as good at avoiding the cameras as you thought.”
Another shrug. “Good enough that you missed me the first time, though?”
A little nod of the head, a tiny acknowledgement.
“So what did you tell Philip?”
Markse sighed, stretched in his plastic chair. “That the bomb which had nearly killed him, and was most likely going to kill his mother, was planted by Seph Atkins.”
“And?”
“I didn’t need to tell him anything else. He already knew who Atkins was. He’d agreed to the murder of Cumali. Simon and he were friends, at that time. When we traced the funds in Atkins’ account back to Choudhary, Philip rushed to a conclusion. I thought it unwise, thought it seemed too lazy for Simon to have used the same hit woman, the same firm to organise an attack on Philip, but he was already scared. His own mother was broadcasting his sins to the nation, and while we to a certain extent suppressed this, he knew it had done phenomenal damage to his reputation with the Company. He was a loose end, an inconvenience, and so was Lady Helen. It was not inconceivable that both would be easily removed, so he reacted… precipitately. He thought by freezing the Company’s assets he could bargain with them for an easy way out, hold the money hostage against his survival. The Cabinet only agreed because he convinced them that they were next, that the Company was going to come for them all, that it had already gone too far. In the end freezing assets was the only thing they could do, and it destroyed them.
By the time I had proof that you, not Choudhary, were behind the assassination attempt, people were dead. I hold you accountable for that. I hold you accountable for most of this. You talk about your daughter, about being a hero. I find that hypocrisy of the highest order. How many mothers, daughters, sons and fathers have you killed, casually, as a senseless side effect of your crusade? How much have you destroyed because you thought it would make you more than just an ordinary man?”
Theo didn’t answer, didn’t look away.
Markse sighed, rolled his head around his neck, tucked his chin in, bunching a little bubble of flesh beneath his jaw, then stretched again. Declared to the ceiling and the sky, “Of course, Simon did kill Philip eventually. It was personal. Amazing how quickly friendship disappears when money is on the line. An apology wasn’t enough; the Company was dead. Everything they’d built together, for nothing. Philip knew it was coming, and I suppose I did too, but I didn’t think Simon would move so fast. My department is receiving pay again, a ‘restoration fee’ from the Company. There aren’t any strings attached. There aren’t any conditions. We are choosing not to investigate Philip’s death too hard because… we don’t talk about the why. We just… don’t look too closely. And we all get paid. The Company is closing up shop, but there are still companies which are owned by the Company which can be liquidated for some ready cash and Simon is not going to leave without…”
Stopped again. Stared at nothing. Asked an incidental thing: “Did you kill Lady Helen?”
Theo didn’t answer, looked away.
Markse grunted. Said, “Tell me about the queen of the patties.”
And he told him.
And Markse said, “How many people does she have?”
And he told him.
And Markse said, “What weapons does she have?”
And Theo
lied a little bit, because he could, because he knew this game now, he could sense the flow of it he lied just a little bit
Because somewhere on the other side of his city his daughter was alive and killing aliens.
And nothing else mattered any more.
Chapter 77
When Simon Fardell came to visit he didn’t know where to begin. He just stood by the door and looked at Theo for a very long time and finally, because he seemed to feel like it, because he was angry and his world was coming apart, he kicked Theo a bit, and that made him feel better. He stopped when Theo’s breakfast came up again because it smelled a lot and he stood by the door and
didn’t really have much to say for himself.
Then:
“Theo Miller died fifteen years ago. I was there. So who the fuck are you?”
Theo crawled into a corner, pressed his head against the wall, licked acid from his lips.
“Philip shot him. He died. I remember it very clearly. I don’t remember you.”
When Theo didn’t answer, Simon looked for a moment like he might do a bit more kicking, but that would have meant stepping over the puke on the floor and that was just uch, it was
So he leaned in close and whispered, “When I sell your daughter, it’ll be to someone who really appreciates the things you can do to little girls.”
Theo managed to get a hand around Simon’s throat before security came in and stamped on him, and retrospectively Simon seemed more satisfied with this result than Theo could possibly be.
Markse sat on a stool in the corner of the room, the smell of bleach on the floor, a bottle of water at the end of Theo’s mattress, and said:
“Of course my life, in my line of work you make choices. Certain choices you make—you understand this you make these choices, and well…”
Theo scratched at the sole of his left foot as Markse talked. The skin was soft and wet, came away in painless white flakes beneath his nails, oddly satisfying, like kneading pastry.