Mass Effect: The Complete Novels 4-Book Bundle (96 page)

Having accessed the system it was only a matter of thirty seconds or so before Leng was able to download the maps he needed. The first gave him the location of the utility room in which carts, gurneys, and the transportable stasis tanks were stored. The second showed the most direct route to the Sentient Storage Section. And according to the listing it was there, in slot sixteen, that Paul Grayson’s body was stored.

Leng broke the connection, called for the other members of the team to join him, and led them through a door into the sterile-looking hallway beyond. About ten meters down the passageway Leng spotted the door marked
UTILITY 12
, and took a right. The barrier slid open to reveal row upon row of gleaming conveyances.

Leng went over to the first tank in line. The transparent capsule was large enough to accommodate
any species except a krogan. It sat atop a high-tech undercarriage that included a control panel, gas hookups, and sturdy wheels. The purpose of the unit was to prevent a body from decaying while C-Sec’s investigators did their jobs. “Hobbs,” Leng said, as he touched a button. “Hop in.”

Hobbs frowned as the curved canopy whirred open. “Why?”

“So Nefari and I will have what looks like a dead body to push around. Now quit screwing off … The faster we get out of there the better.”

Hobbs made a face, sat on the edge of the tank, and brought his feet up. Seconds later he was laid out with arms at his sides. There was the rustle of fabric as Nefari pulled a sheet over Hobbs in order to conceal his scrub suit. “Don’t forget to keep your eyes closed,” Leng said, as the canopy closed.

“He looked dead
before
he got in there,” Nefari observed.

“I know,” Leng said. “That’s one of the reasons why I hired him. Okay, let’s roll.”

The tank was heavy but reasonably easy to steer. Together they pushed it down the hall and into a service elevator, where their luck ran out. A turian stood to one side. He was dressed in a lab coat and had the look of a doctor. “And who are you?” he inquired. “I don’t believe that we’ve met.”

“No, sir,” Leng replied respectfully. “We hired on a couple of days ago. You know how it is … The new people always wind up on night duty.”

That was a guess on Leng’s part, but the turian made no effort to deny it. “I see,” he said, as the lift started into motion. “What have you got there?”

“Most likely a heart attack,” Leng replied. “They found him lying in a passageway behind a bar.”

The turian nodded. But Leng, who was something of an expert at such things, could tell that the alien wasn’t satisfied. Something, a small detail perhaps, wasn’t right. Or maybe he disliked humans as much as Leng disliked turians. “Could I see your ID, please?” the turian inquired. “We have to be careful, you know.”

“Sure,” Leng replied lightly, as Nefari did her best to disappear, “here you go.”

The ID card had been Obey’s originally. But now it had a different name on it along with a picture of Leng. Not an image of his
real
face, but the one Hobbs and Nefari were familiar with, and had been captured by dozens of C-Sec cameras during the last twenty minutes.

The problem was that if the turian left the elevator, and slipped the card into a scanner, all hell would break loose. Of course, Leng would kill the doctor before he could do that. But a dead body would complicate things and reduce their chances of success. Time seemed to stretch. “Okay,” the turian said as the elevator stopped. “Welcome to the team. I’ll see you around.”

Leng accepted the card, took a deep breath, and let it out again. “That was close,” Nefari commented, as the doors closed and the elevator went down.

“Yes, it was,” Leng agreed. The doors parted and they pushed the tank out into the hall. “But we’re almost there.”

And they were. After pushing the tank down a short corridor doors opened and allowed them to
enter a long narrow room. The lighting was dim, the air was cold, and it was extremely quiet. Rows of evenly spaced stasis tanks lined both sides of a central passageway. Each bay was numbered so all Leng had to do was watch for slot sixteen. “There,” he said. “That’s the one we’re after.”

Having parked the stasis tank in the middle of the corridor Leng went over to look at Grayson. There was a grayish tinge to his skin. His eyes were open and a pair of blue-edged holes were still visible near the center of his forehead. Leng smiled.
We meet again
, he thought to himself.

“Okay,” Leng said, as he turned to Nefari. “Disconnect the tubes and the power supply. These things can operate on their own for up to twelve hours. That’s plenty of time in which to take him elsewhere.”

Nefari went to work. There was a soft popping sound as each hose was disconnected followed by a momentary hiss of escaping gas. An alarm began to buzz as the power supply was disconnected and they pulled the unit out into the passageway. “Help me push the other tank in,” Leng said. “Once we hook it up the alarm will go off.” Hobbs had his hands on the transparent canopy by then and was trying to push it open.

“What about Hobbs?” Nefari wanted to know, as the man in question screamed soundlessly, and beat on the canopy with his fists.

“He’ll have to stay here,” Leng replied, as the tank came to a stop. “Otherwise someone will notice that the facility is one body short. Hook up the hoses—I’ll take care of the power.”

“You are one cold-blooded bastard,” Nefari said
tightly, as the alarm fell silent. “What will the gas do to him?”

“I don’t know,” Leng said, as Hobbs began to turn blue. “But his pay will go to you.”

Nefari stood with hands on hips. “Make the transfer
now
. All of it.”

Leng started to object, thought better of it, and activated his omni-tool. “Give me an account number.”

Nefari did so, verified the deposit via her tool, and nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”

Hobbs was quiet by then. His eyes stared lifelessly at the ceiling as the people responsible for his death left. Once they were gone there was nothing but the soft hum of machinery to disturb the otherwise perfect peace.

Ironically, Nefari’s body wound up in a bay only six slots away nine hours later. Her throat had been cut, her pockets were empty, and nobody came forward to claim the body.

The Illusive Man sat silhouetted against a barren landscape as a young woman appeared in the door to his office. “You have a call from Madam Oro.”

The Illusive Man looked up from his terminal. “Thank you, Jana.” As he turned to the right an image blossomed over the holo-pad. The woman had black hair, large brown eyes, and a full figure. She was wearing a businesslike gray tunic. The Illusive Man smiled. “Margaret … It’s good to see you.”

Oro smiled. “You too.”

“I look forward to hearing your report,” the Illusive Man said. “The Hearts and Minds program is very important to me.”

During the thirty-minute presentation that followed Oro brought the Illusive Man up to speed on the largely sub-rosa pro-Cerberus communications effort that she and her staff were engaged in. The purpose of the campaign was to counter the drumbeat of negative publicity that consistently found its way into the news. “At the moment we’re working with the phrase, ‘Cerberus will sound the call, be ready,’ ” she
explained. “The mainstream media won’t run our ads so we’re using guerrilla marketing techniques to put the message out. That includes wall crawls in places like Hu-Town on the Citadel, pirate sites on the extranet, and a network of flesh-and-blood storytellers. All trained to tell tales about the rise of humanity.”

“Well done,” the Illusive Man said approvingly. “Our polling shows that even though members of the other races tend to have a negative impression of Cerberus, most humans feel we’re a positive influence. And I know that your efforts play an important part in creating and reinforcing that impression.”

Oro thanked him as the conversation came to a close. “Remember one thing,” the Illusive Man said, as he prepared to say good-bye. “The biggest problem isn’t the other races—even if they don’t like us. The most significant challenge is apathy, social integration, and the passage of time. Because if humanity loses its identity the battle will be lost without a single shot being fired. So keep fighting Margaret … We have experienced some setbacks of late but things will get better.”

Once the link was broken the Illusive Man turned to look through the oval-shaped window behind him. There were so many battles to fight. So many variables to control. The sound of a tone broke his chain of thought. “Who is it?”

“Kai Leng,” Jana replied over the intercom.

As the Illusive Man turned back to his desk a slightly translucent Leng seemed to materialize out of thin air. The operative’s face was expressionless as usual. “I have news.”

“Of course you do,” the Illusive Man said indulgently. “Where are you?”

“On the Citadel.”

The Illusive Man was seated by then. He placed a cigarette between his lips. “I see. And?”

“And McCann is dead.”

“Excellent. Things went smoothly?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“And the girl?”

“That task has yet to be completed,” Leng replied. “According to what Hendel Mitra told Kahlee and Anderson a few hours ago she boarded a ship for Omega.”

The Illusive Man was disappointed but knew wet work could be very demanding. “How about the third task?”

“Completed. The body is aboard a ship on its way to you. What good is it anyway?”

A momentary flare of light lit the Illusive Man’s face as he thumbed a lighter. “The body is a variable—and variables must be controlled. So you’re free to follow the girl.”

“Yes.”

“Be careful.” And with that the Illusive Man broke the connection. Then he blew a plume of smoke toward the center of the room where it shivered and began to dissipate.
Entropy
, the Illusive Man thought to himself.
The enemy of everything
.

The elevator doors opened, and as Anderson followed Kahlee out into the lobby, his mind was churning.
Varma had contacted them first, to let them know that Grayson’s body had been stolen and another left in its place. Then, while they were still in the process of absorbing that news, the salarian Council member’s executive assistant had called to request a meeting that afternoon. Such “requests” were actually more like orders, especially for Anderson, who was employed by the Council.

The curving walkway took them past a statue and clumps of trees to the base of the Citadel Tower. The C-Sec office at the kiosk out front cleared them through in what might have been record time. Moments later they were aboard the transparent elevator that whisked them upward. The view was magnificent but Anderson’s mind was on other things as the lift stopped well short of the Council Chambers located high above.

They stepped out into a spacious lobby that was decorated with abstract paintings, metal-framed furniture, and sand-colored marble floor. A salarian came forward to greet them. “Hello … My name is Nee Brinsa. Dor Hana is on a call at the moment, but will be free shortly. Please follow me.”

Anderson and Kahlee followed Brinsa into a small but nicely appointed waiting room where they had no choice but to sit on some salarian furniture. It was uncomfortable. But true to Brinsa’s word it was only a matter of minutes before he returned to get them. “Dor Hana is available now,” he said as if announcing a minor miracle.

Hana’s office was large and looked out over a broad expanse of the Presidium and the wards beyond. But Anderson caught only a glimpse of the
spectacular view as Hana came around his desk to greet them. Anderson didn’t know the salarian well but had met him a couple of times before. Kahlee waited to be introduced. Once that process was over Hana gestured to a low table and a grouping of fragile-looking chairs. “Please have a seat.”

The salarian had large eyes, leathery skin, and a long face. He was dressed in a tight-fitting black suit that was broken up with artfully placed panels of white. Once the three of them were seated Hana got right to the point. “As you know, Paul Grayson’s body was stolen from the C-Sec Forensic Lab.”

“Yes,” Anderson replied. “Lieutenant Varma told us. How is such a thing possible?”

Hana frowned. “The investigation is still under way, but it looks as though the thieves were able to identify vulnerabilities in the C-Sec security system and exploit them.”

Anderson and Kahlee listened as Hana told them about how an employee named Obey had been murdered in order to access the Forensic Lab—and how a body had been left in Grayson’s place. “The people who did this are cold-blooded murderers,” the salarian concluded grimly. “The Council member is very upset.”

Anderson knew that when Hana said “the Council member,” the functionary was referring to
his
boss. The only Council member who counted insofar as he was concerned.

“I’d put my money on Cerberus,” Kahlee said tightly. “They’re the ones who experimented on Grayson—and they wanted to get the body back.”

“That makes sense,” Hana agreed. “In fact, it may
have been the presentation that you and Admiral Anderson made to the Council that triggered the theft.”

That made sense and Anderson nodded. “What Kahlee said is true, but I believe there’s more to it than that. We brought the body in front of the Council because of the modifications that had been carried out on it.”

“Modifications that the two of you believe are somehow connected with the Reapers,” Hana said. “Your opinions on the subject are well known. And even though I have been skeptical in the past, I’m beginning to wonder if you might be correct.”

Anderson wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It would be nice to be taken seriously for a change—if that was the case. But Hana had responsibility for the Council’s intelligence operation and was known to be a notorious plotter. Did the salarian
truly
believe the Reapers were involved somehow? Or was he trying to gain Anderson’s trust as part of an effort to better monitor the human’s activities?