21. Unexpected Guest
Norfolk | 9 July
Chloe decided at once that she wouldn’t tell Henry Harris about her encounter with Bob Smith. She needed to process it, work out what it meant. It wasn’t every day that you had a personal visit from a Jackaroo avatar. It was something you definitely had to pay attention to. Crazy and frightening and deeply significant. But of what?
There was no point, she thought, trying to work out why the avatar had chosen to speak to her. Why it had chosen to intervene. It would be easier to get inside the mind of a lion. But the avatar seemed to think that she was at the centre of something it considered to be important or dangerous, and it had given her a clear warning. Be careful about other people, with their own agenda. Whatever that agenda was. Whoever those others were. The Hazard Police? Fahad Chauhan, and the algorithm or eidolon that had affected him? Henry Harris and Ada Morange? No, until she’d figured that out, she’d keep the visitation secret. Keep it close to her heart.
When she found Henry in the pub, working his way through a Full English breakfast, he had news of his own. He pushed his phone towards her, said, ‘Read this.’
It was a brief article on the Guardian website about the quarantine of employees of Disruption Theory after several of them had begun to display symptoms possibly associated with exposure to alien nanotechnology. It mentioned her name, said that she was being sought by the Hazard Police. A link led to another piece. It seemed that the man who had attacked the Jackaroo avatar, Richard Lyonds, had been a long-time user of the Last Five Minutes wiki; there was speculation that he and Chloe could have communicated via its message boards. A police spokesperson appealed for her to come forward so that they could eliminate her from their inquiries.
Chloe read this with an airy feeling of falling. She said, ‘This is total bullshit. All of it. The only connection I have with Lyonds is the pitcher of water I threw over him. No one has ever been infected by the avatars, and what about the other people in the room? Have they been quarantined? I bet they haven’t.’
But she remembered Ram Varma snapping on vinyl gloves before scooping up those fragments.
‘Classic stitch-up,’ Henry said, and forked a section of sausage into his mouth. ‘Your firm’s website is 404’d, by the way.’
‘Adam Nevers,’ Chloe said. ‘He threatened to take us down. And now he has.’
‘Looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Henry said. ‘He wants to contain this thing. Which is what the Hazard Police do. Locate a problem, assess the situation, isolate the people involved. The question is, what does he think he’s trying to contain?’
‘Boys’ games,’ Chloe said. ‘Played by people who hate the idea of losing control, hate the idea that ordinary people might find some use for alien technologies. Who think they can control a universal principle by slapping a D-notice on it and arresting bystanders.’
‘I don’t disagree with you.’
‘Nevers will be looking for Fahad, too.’
‘And we’ll do our best to make sure he doesn’t succeed,’ Henry said. ‘We’ll take care of your friends, too. The Prof has good lawyers. They’ll be out before we get back to London.’
‘And what about me?’
She was like Patient Zero, Chloe thought. Spreading contagion wherever she went.
‘We’ll look after you, too. You and the kid. We’re on the same side, Chloe. We both want to do the right thing by him.’
‘Whatever that is,’ Chloe said, wondering what Ada Morange’s idea of the right thing could be, seeing a teenage kid strapped to a table surrounded by machines, probes and whatnot, men and women in white coats telling him it wouldn’t hurt, taking notes as he writhed under strange lightnings…
‘Whatever it takes,’ Henry said, giving her that bland unreadable stare. ‘You look pale. Finding out that you’re wanted by the police is never the best way to start the day. Eat something. Have a nip of brandy if you need it. We’ve a long day ahead of us. Unless you’d rather sit it out. If you do, I’ll understand.’
‘I’m ready,’ Chloe said.
‘Attagirl.’
The slice of wholewheat toast that Chloe had nibbled while Henry packed away his Full English sat like a cannonball under her ribs as they walked past motor cruisers and sail boats, past a beautiful old two-masted yacht with oiled teak decking and brass portholes. Her messenger bag was slung over her shoulder; she was dressed in her sweater and black jeans, and a hooded jacket her ex had given her two birthdays ago, currently blotched grey and white by the biomimetic camouflage baked into its Tyvek/nylon fabric.
Sea mist muffled the little harbour, the little town. Crab cages stacked waist-high, orange nets draped on racks, neat coils of rope. Small boats gently rocking on the rising tide. Oyster boats, crab boats…
Chloe’s heart gave a kick when Jack Baines hailed them. His airboat floated toylike between two fishing boats, a rectangular skiff with a tall fan in a cage at the rear, the pilot’s seat raised above a bench for passengers, big halogen spotlights either side of it.
‘Nice ride,’ Henry said.
Baines said that he’d built it himself. It had a hull of smart plastic with a retractable keel that could fold flat for navigating shallow channels in the marshes, had originally been powered by a supercharged 6.2 litre engine and high-octane petrol boosted with a home-made nitro mix, but he’d swapped in an electric motor and a pair of LEAF batteries a couple of years ago and hadn’t looked back.
‘Longer range, higher speed, and very much quieter. The low profile means that it hardly raises a blip on radar, which is exactly what I need for my sneakier errands. Although if I ever rebuild her, I’ll go with a fan made from that fullerene composite they use on the new jet planes. Then she won’t show at all.’
He seemed slightly wired, speaking fast, his gaze twitchy. He was wearing a heavy roll-neck pullover and oil-stained blue jeans; a peaked canvas cap was jammed over his blond hair. He said, ‘We’re just waiting for a pal I thought I’d bring along. He knows those two old girls better than me, can make introductions.’
‘Why not?’ Henry said. ‘You know, I rode in one of these in the Florida Everglades. Years back, when I took my kids on a trip to Disney World. Before everything changed.’ He smiled at Chloe. ‘I bet you can’t picture me with kids.’
‘Actually, I’m having a hard time picturing you in Disney World,’ Chloe said.
‘Henry can be quite the sweetie,’ someone else said. It was the woman in the white tracksuit, walking towards them out of the mist.
Baines said, ‘Who’s this?’
‘An unexpected guest,’ Henry Harris said. ‘Sandra, meet Mr Jack Baines. Our tour guide for today. I wouldn’t, Jack.’
Baines raised his hands chest-high, palms out. Because, Chloe saw with a little shock, Henry had produced his little revolver.
She said, ‘I’d like to know who she is, too.’
‘Sandra Hamilton,’ the woman said. ‘A colleague of Henry’s. Pleased to meet you at last.’
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. There was a Bluetooth earpiece plugged into her right ear. A long torch hung swordlike from the webbing belt buckled around her waist; a clunky yellow pistol — a taser — rode on her left hip.
‘She’s the coordinator of the infiltration crew,’ Henry said.
‘What crew? What else haven’t you told me?’ Chloe was wondering if the woman had been spying on her, at the beach. If she’d seen the Jackaroo avatar walking out of the sea…
Henry said, not unkindly, ‘Did you really think this was all about you? Sandra and her boys will help us get this thing done with minimum fuss.’