House of Dust (43 page)

She looked at me and shrugged. “Yes. More fool them. Unfortunately it gradually became apparent that the contamination levels were increasing drastically. Many ExFor personnel succumbed to viruses that had never been identified before. So . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “So the Hebdomadal Council was forced to take a major decision.”

The atmosphere in the room was suddenly oppressive. I could feel sweat breaking out all over my body. Was Raphael finally about to tell me what I needed to crack the case?

“And what was it that you decided?” I asked in a low voice.

The chief administrator dropped her gaze. “We decided to implement research that several of the science departments had proposed.” She licked her lips and looked straight into my eyes. “We decided to create an enhanced human being.”

Outside the birds were twittering in the spring warmth, but all I felt was icy steel running up my spine like an executioner's blade.

It took me some time to find my voice. “A what?”

“You heard me, citizen.”

“An enhanced human being?” I repeated, my heart pounding. “What the hell does that mean?”

Raphael was back in control of herself now. “It means a human being with an advanced immune system, one so sophisticated that none of the toxins and viruses in the Poison Fields can affect it.” She glanced past me again. “We also applied certain other characteristics to improve the performance of ExFor personnel.”

“Oh aye?” I said. What she'd said tied up with the code red file that I'd seen in the morning. I was also thinking of the Grendel recruitment session I'd witnessed. “What characteristics?”

“Massively increased physical strength, for a start.” A shadow of what might have been doubt passed over her face. “We used psychological and chemical means to produce the ideal patrol operative.”

“You mean you brainwashed them?”

Raphael gave me a disapproving look. “That term has no scientific validity, citizen.”

I shrugged. “Neither does Grendel.” Then I remembered the other code names I'd seen: Miranda, Plowman, Volpone and so on. The pattern suddenly fell into place. “Oh, now I get it. Reverse chronology.
Beowulf
is the earliest work, so the Grendels must be the most sophisticated ExFor personnel yet.” I caught her eye. “What happened? Did one of them take exception to the process?”

Her face was pale and she didn't favour that question with a spoken answer, which told me that I was right.

I rubbed my forehead. “Surely you have some kind of monitoring system on these monsters. Why don't you just pick the miscreant up? Or is there more than one of them on the loose?”

Now she was shaking her head, her face sombre. “It's not that easy, I'm afraid. There are two classes of Grendels. Mark Ones, those who operate in the outer Poison Fields, are programmed to remain in designated ExFor areas; that is, no closer than fifteen kilometres from the city. All of those are accounted for.”

I felt a sinking feeling. “Don't tell me,” I said. “Mark Twos are like me. They have free access.”

The chief administrator pursed her lips. “In principle, no. Mark Two Grendels were designed to be completely self-sufficient so that they can operate outside the borders of New Oxford. But the scientists discovered that the only way to achieve flexibility and independence of thought and action was to remove the monitoring facilities.”

“You mean you haven't got a clue where any of these highly trained operatives is. How many are there?”

“Seven,” she replied. “All male. The last was released from the borders in February. One of the few control mechanisms that we have over them is that their initial programming prevents them from re-entering the state of New Oxford.”

“And you think one or more of them has managed to override that?”

She nodded. “The problem is . . . the Mark Twos are fully trained in anti-surveillance tactics, including the assumption of false identities and disguising their appearance. They are also issued with certain equipment which enables them to counteract cameras and other tracking units.”

“That could explain what happened to the cameras on the High Street before the killings of Ted Pym and Raskolnikov.”

“It could, yes.”

Now I was having flashes of the crime scenes in Edinburgh: the stinking tenement where we found Dead Dod and the former burial ground where Lewis Hamilton had fallen. I leaned forward. “What is the Mark Two Grendels' function outside New Oxford?”

“They—” Raphael broke off, her reluctance to answer very obvious. “They carry out certain sensitive duties.”

I remembered the ASAR rifle and its sophisticated ammunition. “Jesus Christ. They're assassins, aren't they? You use them to take out people you don't like.”

“Um . . . that isn't really germane to this investigation,” she said.

“Like fuck it isn't,” I yelled, getting up and bending over her. “One of your fucking Mark Two Grendels put an Eagle One in the Edinburgh public order guardian.”

The chief administrator raised her hand. “You're too close, citizen.”

I leaned closer. “You're bloody right I am, Raphael. And getting closer to your septic secrets by the minute.”

“No,” she said, her straightened fingers jabbing hard into my chest. “I mean you're too close to me. I don't like physical intimacy.”

I stepped back, aware that by doing so I was giving her back the initiative.

“That's something else you should know,” Raphael continued.

“Don't tell me. You like to pull the wings off flies.”

She twitched her head. “Not about me. About the Eagle One that hit Lewis Hamilton.”

I moved towards her again. “What about it?”

She raised a hand to fend me off. “You've seen the specifications. You know what it can do. In this case, the shooter deactivated the detonation unit.”

“That's right,” I said, recalling what Verzeni had said about the software when he demonstrated the ASAR to us. “He stopped the bullet blowing Lewis to pieces.”

Raphael nodded. “Not only that. Remember the low buzz that the projectile made before impact?”

I nodded, my mind flashing back to the scene in the prison yard and the sound I'd picked up.

“The shooter attempted to minimise the bullet's impact by initiating the velocity reduction facility.”

“Maybe that was because he realised that it wasn't going to hit you.”

“Maybe,” she said. “The sighting system does allow for rapid response, despite the fact that the projectile's vector cannot be altered; during the trials there were cases of imperfect Grendels trying to fire round corners for their own amusement. However, there is another possibility.”

I couldn't see where she was heading. “What?” I demanded.

Raphael opened her eyes wide at me. “Why would the shooter make such efforts to neutralise the Eagle One's effect?”

I ran my hand across my chin. “Why would he indeed? Grendels are trained to kill, aren't they?”

“Precisely. Their programming takes no account of misfires or wrongly identified targets.” The administrator went on looking at me intently. “Perhaps this particular shooter had some reason of his own for trying to save Lewis Hamilton from serious injury.”

I tried to imagine who in New Oxford would give a shit about an Edinburgh guardian. I didn't have long to get anywhere with that. My mobile went off, making me jump.

“Quint?” said a familiar voice. “It's Katharine. Davie told me you were worried about me. How sweet.”

“Not now,” I said.

“You're not worried now?”

“No. Yes. Oh, for Christ's sake. Meet me outside Queen. Out.”

The chief administrator was sitting motionless. “News?”

I shook my head, keeping the relief I was feeling over Katharine to myself. “Right, about the errant Mark Two Grendel.” I gave Raphael the eye. “What you say is very interesting, but it isn't much more than speculation. There's a more immediate question. Why would a Grendel want to kill you? Surely the first command that's drummed into your highly efficient killing machines is that administrators are untouchable.”

She left my question unanswered for a time. “Yes, well, I presume that aspect of the programming has also been overridden.” She stood up in a rapid movement. “You're the investigator, citizen. I leave the question of the killer's motivation to you. My colleagues and I do have an idea how to catch him though.”

“Do you?” I wasn't sure if I wanted the administrators' help – I reckoned at least some of them were up to their elbows in the mire – but I was beginning to flail around. “And it is?”

“Tomorrow we are holding one of the bimonthly Encaenia.”

“Translation?”

“Encaenia? Ceremony commemorating the university's benefactors,” she said. “It used to be an annual event, but these days our sponsors like a more frequent recognition of their generosity. There is a public procession of administrators and senior academics.”

“And you think the Grendel will take another pot shot at you there?”

She nodded slowly. “I do.”

Take out the university-state's leading light in front of the people who fund the place? I couldn't fault her thinking.

Chapter Nineteen

Preparing for the procession took up the rest of the day and most of the evening. We spent several hours in the Hebdomadal Council building. The proctor wasn't impressed by Raphael's insistence that she would lead the parade as usual, but he was given no choice. On the other hand, Dawkley had trouble concealing his excitement; he seemed to be positive both that the assassin created by his scientists would make an appearance and that he would be caught, without suggesting how. The fact that he and Raphael were so sure of their strategy, as well as the carefully ordered dispositions of bulldogs and other security staff, prompted me to wonder why I was being made privy to the planning. Eventually I found out.

“You're joking,” I said, my jaw slack. “I'm not dressing up in one of those patchwork gowns.”

Raphael gave me a tight smile. “Don't worry, citizen. We'll find you a black one.”

I glanced at Davie and Katharine. “Why do you need me in the procession at all?” I asked.

The chief administrator shook her head at me despairingly. “You're the only person who's seen the Grendel close up. If anyone can see through the disguise he'll surely be wearing, it's you.” She gave Davie and Katharine the quickest of looks. “What your colleagues do is of no interest to me.”

“Screw you too,” Katharine said under her breath.

I put myself between her and Raphael. “All right,” I said. “I'll do it. But there isn't much chance of me recognising the bastard. I hardly got a glimpse of his face and his muscle-bound body isn't exactly a one-off in this city.” I directed my gaze at Trout and Perch who were standing at the far end of the room.

Raphael and Dawkley exchanged a look that I couldn't read.

“Here is a folder containing photographs of all the Grendel Mark Twos, citizen,” the science administrator said, stepping forward. “Coming from technology-deficient Edinburgh, you may find it easier to work with hard copies than the digital versions. I suggest you study them carefully.”

The meeting broke up before I could tell Dawkley where to stick his hard copies.

We walked back to Brase through the quadrangle of the former Bodleian. The great walls were floodlit and the Latin names above each of the Gothic-arched doorways were picked out in a different coloured light. You could almost believe that you were back in the old Oxford, the one that was confident about its academic standing and untouched by the real world's problems. Conversely, that anachronism had managed to preserve the ideal of intellectual freedom. As I left the passage to be confronted by the Radcliffe Camera and its high-tech surveillance dome, I found myself feeling strangely nostalgic for what the place had been when I'd visited it as a teenager. I blinked to banish the feeling. That world was irrevocably gone and it was probably just as well.

The night was warm, giving a hint of the burning summer that lay ahead.

“I wonder what they call the Big Heat down here?” I said, breathing in the scent of blossom from the trees in the college gardens.

“Summer?” Katharine suggested. The acidity in her voice told me that she was still seething about the way Raphael had dismissed her earlier.

“Roast Ox?” Davie proposed.

I looked up into the darkness. “Spare me.”

“You'd better hope the shooter spares you too, Quint,” Katharine said as we approached Brase. “You know what I think?”

The door in the heavy wooden gate hissed open automatically.

“Enlighten me,” I said apprehensively.

Katharine led us out into the front quad. It was perfectly still: no snores from scholars who'd passed out over their books, no insects rustling the leaves of the wisteria, no drunken students carousing. It could have been an ancient citadel deserted by all but the dead.