‘S-tech?’ Beth asked.
‘I’ll explain later.’ Or more likely it won’t matter, because you’ll be on a Circle operating table being vivisected, your nanites harvested, he thought bitterly, knowing she really didn’t deserve that. ‘But basically, seeding the local vermin didn’t work. And there’s a city in the way of accurate satellite thermographics, and that’s assuming they can’t counter thermographics anyway, which seems unlikely.’
Beth was staring at him blankly. ‘Are you just a madman?’
‘I’m not. Sorry.’
She watched an idea dawn on his face and raised an eyebrow.
‘When I spoke to Bryant’s wife, she seemed to be hiding something, or holding something back,’ he said.
They climbed back into the Range Rover as he instantly recalled Bryant’s wife’s address from his memory.
Down the hill through Cosham, onto the Southampton Road, under the motorway, Port Solent Marina and then Portsmouth Harbour proper on their left-hand side. Across the harbour they could see the grey stones of Portchester Castle. Beth noted that du Bois was driving less like a psycho now. Admittedly the roads were busy but she knew it meant less urgency. Less urgency meant less hope.
Du Bois turned the battered four-by-four, which was getting some stares – particularly as it was missing a door – into Castle Street. Beth noticed the nice houses down by the castle. She couldn’t even begin to imagine living here or what that world was like. It was more alien to her, almost, than the madness of the last few days.
The air was full of the sounds of sirens. There were now several helicopters in the air. She could see one close to the Spinnaker Tower at Gun Wharf. She guessed that was over the scene of the gunfight in Old Portsmouth. The others were to the west over the carnage on the motorway.
Some kids pointed at the Range Rover as they drove by. Beth stared back because she was too numb to think about turning away.
Everything about the house looked nicely suburban. Beth tried to suppress her contempt. She knew this was based on envy. Right now she would have given anything to live there and be oblivious to the madness that hid under the surface of the real world.
There was an estate agent’s For Sale sign stuck in the lawn with a big Sold sticker across it. The house looked empty. Du Bois didn’t curse, he just seemed to sag in the driving seat. Then the door opened. The woman coming out looked like she had been attractive when she was younger and had tried to hold on to her looks by using too much make-up and hair dye. She glanced at the Range Rover and put the box she was carrying into the back of a Volvo estate. She glanced at them again and headed back to the house.
Du Bois concentrated momentarily.
‘That’s her.’ He got out of the car and walked towards her. ‘Anna Bryant?’ She turned and stared at him. Apparently she didn’t like what she saw and backed towards the house. Beth got out of the jeep as well. ‘Mrs Bryant, I know we look a sight – it’s been a pretty rough day – but my name is Malcolm du Bois and I’m with Special Branch. We spoke over the phone.’ He reached inside his torn and battered leather coat and pulled out his warrant card and held it up for her. She stopped but still looked like she might bolt at any moment.
‘Is this to do with that?’ she inclined her head towards the noise of the sirens.
‘I’m afraid so. Can we talk in the house?’
She looked terrified but swallowed hard and then nodded. She must have worked out that it was something to do with her husband. Suddenly Beth felt absurdly guilty for the part she had played in his death.
‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you tea or coffee. We’re moving…’ she said, embracing platitudes to put off a difficult situation just a little longer. Du Bois assured her that was fine with a degree of impatience in his voice. ‘Why wouldn’t they let me identify his body?’ she suddenly demanded.
‘A possible biohazard issue,’ du Bois lied smoothly. It was the official cover story so the lie came easily. Mrs Bryant looked stricken. ‘When we spoke on the phone I was sure that you were holding something back. We need to know what that is, and we need to know now, I’m afraid.’ She had started shaking her head before he had finished talking.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ The lie and guilt were obvious.
Du Bois looked angry. Even so, Beth was shocked when a knife appeared in his hand and he rammed Anna Bryant back into the wall, putting the blade up against her throat.
‘Look we don’t have—’
Du Bois was astonished when Beth grabbed him by the back of his coat, spun him round and slammed him into the door frame so hard he fell to the floor.
Beth stood over him. ‘What the fuck?’ she demanded. Du Bois looked apoplectic. ‘Not everything’s about bloody murder! Do you understand me?! Now you fucking stay down there and think about what you’ve done!’ she continued before turning to the terrified Mrs Bryant.
Beth managed to calm her down and get the story from her. After she had reported him missing, after they had waited the requisite amount of time, after she had had him legally declared dead, she had seen him in the street, but he had looked odd. She had been too frightened to report it because it would have meant losing the insurance money and calling into question the house sale. She had not said anything because she assumed that he had abandoned her and the children.
Mrs Bryant had seen him go into a house on Alhambra Road opposite South Parade Pier.
There was silence as they climbed into the Range Rover.
‘You angry with me?’ Beth asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I’m really fucking angry with you. Want to take it out on somebody else?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Du Bois started the Range Rover, put it into gear and drove off.
31. A Long Time After the Loss
The death of the Basilisk had been brutal. As soon as the bulk freighter carrying the Monk and Scab – hidden in the stomach of livestock – left Pangean space, the Church frigate opened fire on the Basilisk.
There was no way Scab could receive any form of communication during the infiltration, but even so the name of the game was to hit the Basilisk so hard its comms wouldn’t have time to do anything. All the beam batteries on the port side of the frigate fired, drawing lines of light and spatial distortion to the converted Corsair-class ship. At the same time all the kinetic shot racks were also emptied. The Basilisk’s energy dissipation grid flared briefly before the ship burst and, to all intents and purposes, ceased to be.
More than a little of the Pangean orbital station the Basilisk was docked with was also damaged. Weapon systems locked onto the St Brendan’s Fire as Pangean naval craft sought to reach firing positions in higher orbits. The Living Cities immediately lodged protests both with the frigate and with Church authorities on Pangea. The Church apologised, explained it was a Church sanction and offered to pay compensation, but behind all their apologies was the unuttered threat of sanctions. The Pangean authorities let it go.
None of which mattered to Vic. Disguised as wreckage, he was being propelled by a jet of gas towards the St Brendan’s Fire. He was wearing the finest power-assisted combat armour that debt could buy, with some illegal upgrade modifications done by Scab and himself. They had put every bit of naughty stealth technology they could find into the armour, and he was running it with minimal systems.