Long Division (30 page)

‘Dr Baker. I,’ I wracked my brain, ‘I remember you mentioning him. You said he worked for InVizion, yeah?’

James blew out an impatient breath. ‘Yes, so? That was ages ago. What about him?’ He curled up a little tighter, resting his head against the back of the sofa. Headache getting worse.

I looked at him hard. ‘Where’s your phone?’

He acted as if I’d asked him to recite to me his multiplication tables. Trying. Finally he handed me the unlocked phone and I went to searching. I found Karl Baker’s bio after several moments of attempting to figure the device out. ‘A neuroscientist.’

James flapped his hands irritably. ‘Yes? So what? Of course they’d need him for the project! It’s about mind control, or did you forget? I doubt he’s still alive, anyhow. If Dr Fox is dead then they no doubt offed the rest of them, too.’

I scrolled a little further and raised my eyebrows. The man had an impressive list of credentials. I tried to skim through it as quickly as I could, despite James’s growing irritation. He might know something, which meant he might be next on Slater’s hit list—if he
was
still alive. InVizion didn’t like loose ends.

I spotted it then. The word that made everything become horribly real. ‘Who specialised in
oncology.
’

It did not have the effect on James I had imagined it would. His eyebrows rose a couple of degrees but beyond that, nothing. After several seconds, he spread his big hands. ‘So?’

Right. I hadn’t said he was some brilliant physicist, so James didn’t know. ‘Oncology. Cancer. In Baker’s case, brain cancer. That means tumours, James.’

His full lips twitched with displeasure at my mention of the word. Other than that, he didn’t seem interested. I knew he was feeling poorly, I knew he didn’t see any hope left, but I couldn’t just let him give up after a revelation like this.

‘We have to see him.’ I stood too quickly, making the room spin.

James watched me from his sprawled position. ‘What? Why?’ He curled up a little tighter. ‘We don’t even know where he is! If he’s alive!’

I felt a sort of constricting desperation grow in me. We
had
to find him,
had
to talk to him. InVizion had intentionally hired a man who specialised in what was now plaguing my friend. Maybe he knew. No. He
had
to know
.
It was too great a coincidence. And if anything could be done for my friend then I was willing to try it.

It hurt my head. It was aching from the growing pressure of the situation.

‘We have to find him,’ I restated the urgency.

James sat up slowly, glowering. ‘How exactly do you plan on doing that?’

I had had about enough of this defeatist attitude. Yeah, I got it, I did, but we still had time, if only a little. I tossed his mobile to him again and he struggled to catch it. Surely he understood my desperation was to help him. I didn’t see why he had to be so resistant to it. ‘You can find him! You’ve got more at your disposal now than ever thanks to that bloody device. We
have
to find him, James. Don’t you understand? Whatever Baker did, it’s affected you. He may know how to stop it. And even if he can’t, he may know what’s coming. He may be able to tell us. We have to get to him before Slater does.’

James sighed, obediently starting his search. He rubbed his temple absently. ‘You don’t actually believe he’s still alive, do you?’

I let out a breath. ‘I don’t know. But we have to try. It’s all we’ve got.’

I had been right in guessing it would not take James long to find Dr Baker. It probably took him a shorter time than he led me to believe, but after half an hour he produced for me an address. To my relief, it was in London.

As he’d searched, I’d tried to work out exactly what I was planning on doing once I got the address. It made my head throb to think about. Breaking in and demanding to know what was going on didn’t exactly seem the best course of action, but I was growing desperate. If we knocked on the door and received no answer, what would we do then? Just give up and go home?

No. I had a nasty feeling we were running out of time to talk to the man—if he was even still alive. According to his website he’d spoken at Oxford two days ago, but plenty could happen in that amount of time. And, of course, there was the danger that this man was not even “on our side”. How could I know that this doctor wasn’t happily responsible for what was wrong with James right now?

He was a doctor. I didn’t want to believe he’d intentionally hurt anyone.

My stomach twisted a little as I realised: we needed answers, no matter what. If we couldn’t have a…civilised conversation…then I’d have to be prepared for attempting to pull the information from him some other way. I wasn’t even sure how to go about that. If I’d be able to. Could I be threatening enough? The list of ways it could go wrong was long as it ran through my mind. If things did go bad, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d be able to trust James to help me. He was languid, disinterested, unwell. Even getting him to Dr Baker was starting to seem like a challenge now that I thought of it. I rubbed my eyes, God…

It took some coaxing, but I finally managed to drag James from his spot on the sofa and into a cab. I was, admittedly, quite properly terrified. What was to be expected from this, I had no idea.

I told the cabbie to drop us off about a street away from our destination. Sure, there were cameras everywhere, but I wasn’t that keen on having us deposited right at the front door of the man in case it all went to hell.

James had his hands stuffed in an oversized trench coat that no one with any sense should have been caught wearing. It hung around him in a baggy, grey cloak. I didn’t question it. I’d learnt long ago not to question his choices.

The shadows were long, and I felt like a criminal as I walked the pavement towards our destination. I paused just at the foot of the stairs and James pulled up across from me. He watched with hooded eyes, looking positively miserable. I bit my lip and glanced up to the black door, yawning like an open mouth. The flat didn’t look very promising. I wasn’t even sure if he was home.

‘Shall I ring the bell?’

Instead of answering, James’s brows lowered over his eyes in a tight hunch. My spine immediately tightened. Something wasn’t right. Damned if I knew how he sensed it, but something had pricked up his ears and I wasn’t about to ignore his instincts. I glanced back up to the house. The windows were dark, the door closed, the street quiet.

‘What’s up?’

James shook his head, brow furrowed in consternation.

I began to wish I’d have brought a weapon of some sort, not that I had anything, other than perhaps a kitchen knife, because I felt terribly exposed now. After a moment of internal debate, where I shifted from one foot to the other in indecision, I finally cast James a look and mounted the three steps up to the door. I tried the handle.

Open.

For reason I couldn’t quite explain, that made me feel incredibly ill. It shouldn’t have been open. I didn’t want it to be open. Open wasn’t good. And another thought: my prints were on the door now. Damn. I really wasn’t thinking.

I turned back to motion to James and after a second of unsure hesitation, looking increasingly more uncomfortable—he was scowling so deeply now I could not see his eyes, and his fingers were pressed to his temples, massaging roughly—he followed me.

I hadn’t thought of a torch either, but James’s mobile had a decent enough light and I used that to shine down the halls. It was an eerie experience, walking through another person’s house in the dark, seeing their things all displayed here and there, an entirely different life I knew nothing about that I was suddenly intruding on.

Dr Baker’s collections were mainly of books, as one might have expected. Old Persian rugs lined the floor and piles upon piles of papers were crowded onto every flat surface I could see. I did not think he was married by the way the house was arranged and I kicked myself mentally for not having researched that. My heart nearly rammed into my throat as I ran into a full skeleton displayed at the end of the hall.

Above us, coming from the second storey, a floorboard creaked.

James and my head both tilted up.

‘Dr Baker?’ I asked in as soft a whisper I could manage.

James just frowned at me in confusion, either so distracted he couldn’t make sense of it, or unable to read my lips.

‘James?’

He shook his head and stepped rapidly to me, till my back was pressed against him. He dipped his head down and whispered wetly, quickly, into my ear. ‘This place is vibrating like mad. The very air, can’t you feel it? My head is cracking with it!’

I frowned in confusion. Vibrating? I often did not understand James’s choice of words to express what he was feeling. I could sense nothing, though my nerves were so tight I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to, anyway. I could, however, sympathise with his head cracking. Mine felt that way as well. Damn headache hadn’t yet left me, despite the pills I’d downed.

‘Can you sense which direction it’s coming from?’

He pointed up.

I glanced up to the ceiling and nodded, wishing the pressure would leave my belly. Then I reluctantly started off at a quicker pace to the end of the hall, and after what I considered a very careful look round, took the door on the right. It was into a sitting room of sorts and ah, there were the stairs.

I reached my hand back, groping for James, and managed to find his fingers. I pulled him forward, not thinking he’d come, otherwise. He was growing more distressed with every step we took, and I could only pray he’d not make it vocal soon. I wasn’t sure if it was from those “vibrations” he was claiming to feel, or the fact we were in some stranger’s house in the dark, throwing him out of his comfort zone. I could not afford a mental breakdown of some sort here.

‘Come on,’ I hissed, tugging at him. My own headache was worsening. Maybe I was paranoid.

With unwilling steps, James followed me to the foot of stairs. I looked up, scowling into the blue darkness, struggling to see if there was anything to make out in the gloom. A loud groan came from the floor above. There was at least one person moving about, staying to the same room. It felt too early for bed, but perhaps Dr Baker was the sort of person who’d do that anyway. The unlocked front door could easily have been an oversight, I told myself.

I started upwards, pulling James after me, feeling his resistance grow with each step we took, like a boat tethered in a current.

It was as we neared the landing, I thought I could almost make out the murmur of a voice. The knot in my stomach went tighter as I reluctantly turned for it.

James let out a soft moan of protest, feet planting themselves. I gave him a sharp look. His eyes were almost closed. I clenched my teeth. I thought if I released him he’d go rushing right back down the stairs. Not out of fear, but of this odd discomfort that had befallen him. I had to get him out of it, but wasn’t really sure what would do the trick. I gave his hand a squeeze. It didn’t reassure him much, I knew that, but I daren’t risk trying to speak at the moment. With a nasally sigh he obediently followed after me, shoes dragging on the carpet.

My ears rang in the stillness. The door was cracked at the end of the hall and I thought that perhaps there was one table lamp turned on. A shadow ghosted across the small patch of light I could see against the wall. Someone
was
walking in there. I cast a look back to James, but he was in no way focused on me. Again the voice came, a little louder now. Something felt strange about it. It took me a moment to realise.

American.

God. My stomach really did clench up then and all my thoughts flew to possible escapes, dashing back down the stairs and out, calling the police before he had a chance to spot us. Slater was here. My mind ran. Why was he here? To kill Baker? Was Baker having regrets, like James had? Or, a much worse scenario, were they on the same side?

‘It worked, didn’t it?’ A nervous voice, not American, drifted out to me.

The discomfort in my head was growing worse with each step. That ringing, whining, possibly vibrating that James had mentioned? How had he sensed it downstairs? It felt like the air was charged with electricity. It wasn’t very strong, but it did make me want to shut my eyes, rub my head, get away from it. I made sure to hold on to James tighter and could only pray he’d not vocalise his discomfort. If he’d been able to feel it all the way downstairs, possibly even outside, I could only imagine what he was suffering now.

I shot him a warning look, just to be on the safe side, and saw just how wide his eyes were, how ill he was. His head was giving an odd little twitch and the hand not clamped in mine was jammed against his mouth, perhaps in an attempt to keep from crying out. Good. I prayed it would stay that way. As long as he didn’t throw a fit, I thought perhaps we’d make it.

If Slater didn’t kill us first, that was.

To be honest, I had no plan. And I had no idea what I was planning. Slater was probably armed, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some sort of other infernal device on him. What did I have? A belt. Yeah. Good choice of weapon. So what? Just wait outside the door till I heard Slater snuff Baker and then make a run for it?