Resonance (47 page)

Annalise had a worrying thought. ParaDim did not leave loose ends. Any one of those men in custody could cut a deal. Would Sylvestrus risk his future on the lives of four men?

She didn't think so.

Without Graham's testimony, four men would be released at one o'clock. How many would be alive at one-thirty?

Or were they booked on the plane as well?

"What time's Sylvestrus's plane due to leave?" asked Annalise.

"Two, why?"

"How long does it take to drive from Ladbroke Road to the airport?"

Jenny looked hard at Annalise then shook her head. "Sylvestrus would never do that. He needs an element of deniability. If he takes any of those men with him, he's pushing himself closer to the crime."

"Then someone's going to kill four men very soon."

Annalise paced the room. She had to
do
something. She checked her watch. Ten o'clock. The men would be released in three hours, Sylvestrus would be out of the country in four. Could she coach Graham? Would he lie for her? Was there a way she could persuade him that in this world it was the truth? Would there be a bruise in the middle of his back from where the gun had dug in or cuts from the struggle?

The phone rang.

It was Jerry. The police wanted to know when Graham was arriving. They were prepared to send a car. They were prepared to do anything.

Except extend the deadline.

Dave's career was on the line as it was. And if Annalise didn't produce Graham by 12:45 at the latest, a warrant would be sought for her immediate arrest.

"On what charges?" Annalise shouted down the phone.

"Attempted murder—"

"But the kidnapping," Annalise interrupted. "The witnesses. They must have found other witnesses by now. The cameras." She was too angry to be coherent. She thought all this had been settled. Sylvestrus was on the run. Didn't that count for anything?

Jerry attempted to calm her down. There were witnesses.
One
thought she might have seen a gun in Graham's back;
some
saw the struggle between Annalise and the gunman. But
everyone
recalled how the orange-haired girl had thrown the flaming waste bin into the big, black car.

"What about the man shooting at me? You can't tell me no one remembers that."

"That's not a point of contention. The man claims to have overreacted. You'd attacked his boss. He thought you were terrorists and opened fire."

And the CCTV cameras hadn't been much help either. The resolution was poor. Several cameras showed Graham and one of the gunmen walking together, but without Graham's testimony there was nothing to suggest anything criminal was taking place.

Annalise put the phone down and slumped onto the sofa. She had less than three hours to coach Graham. Somehow she had to describe the faces of four men in such detail that Graham could pick them out from a line of similar-looking men.

She held her face in her hands.

"Annalise,"
said a voice in her head.

"I'll go to her," said Graham. He'd made up his mind before Annalise Six had finished explaining. "I can testify."

"How can you get there?" asked Annalise.

"I'll find a way."

She shook her head. "What about your plan? Do you want me to contact the girls or not?"

Graham felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach by a herd of wild horses. Was Fate conspiring against him? Was his plan so abhorrent to the nature of the universe that it had to be thwarted? Or was he being forced to choose? Was there some malevolent deity out there testing him—okay, Mr. Smith, you wanted choice, here's the biggest choice you'll ever have to make. Who do you save? Millions of strangers or the love of your life?

He looked at Annalise, and all he could see was Fifteen. She looked so sad. How could he not go to her? His plan could be postponed. There'd be another opportunity.

Not like today
. Three words that cut him like the sharpest knife. There wouldn't be another opportunity like today. Not for a long time. He knew where everyone would be at twelve o'clock. The longer he waited, the less chance of success. Every day there would be fewer Grahams and maybe fewer Annalises too. How long could the girls stay hidden?

And how long could Fifteen stay alive? Sylvestrus would hunt her down. As long as she remained a threat to his plan, she'd be a target. And Fifteen would always be a threat. She wouldn't stop until she brought down ParaDim. A chance she had now. If Graham testified.

He had to go to her. He owed her, he loved her. He realized that now.

And he realized something else. Once the resonance wave was stopped, there'd be no more flipping. Fifteen would be left to fend for herself on a world he could never reach. He'd never know what became of her, he'd never see her again, he'd never know what might have been.

He had to go to her.

But if he did, thousands more people would die.

He couldn't save one without dooming the other.

Unless . . .

"Tell the girls," he told Six. "Then send this message to Fifteen."

Graham checked his watch for the seventh time in as many minutes.

"It's eight minutes past," he told Annalise. "I've got to go."

The door to the Ladies slammed back against its hinges. Howard burst in.

"It works," he said, out of breath and wheezing. "Simulations confirm a . . . ninety-seven percent probability . . . but you must keep it going."

Graham took a deep breath and looked at Annalise. "Ready?" he asked.

"Always," she replied.

Graham closed his mind to anything resembling a choice. He couldn't afford to flip now. He and Annalise had to arrive together. One mistake and everything would be lost.

They didn't exchange a word on the tube. Graham shut himself off from the outside world and let Annalise guide him.

The train stopped in the tunnels outside Earl's Court. Seconds ticked away. Why had it stopped? Graham tried to keep calm and detached. He wouldn't check his watch, he wouldn't open his mind to doubt. All his energy had to be focused on the one room and the one time. Twelve o'clock. He had to plan, he had to run through the sequence of events; once there he couldn't afford to freeze or be deflected.

The train jerked forward, accompanied by creaking metal and carriage lights that weren't sure if they were supposed to be on or off. Graham closed his eyes and sank deeper within himself. He wasn't on a train, he was in Brenda's room, it was twelve o'clock and everything was going according to plan. He held onto that thought, breathed life into it, gave it form and substance. The train wouldn't be late, couldn't be late, because he was already there, his foot wedged in time's door pulling the two realities together.

An age later, he felt a tug on his arm. A disembodied voice. Annalise. The train had arrived.

He walked; one foot in reality, one squelching half-asleep through a liquid realm of fear and possibility. The closer he came, the more nervous he became. There was so much at stake. So much that could go wrong. How could any plan of his have any credibility?

They left the station, walking arm in arm down streets that barely registered in his mind. He couldn't concentrate. His mind was cycling though his plan, replaying strategies, recasting roles.

He shivered outside the door to the DTI. He stretched, he took a deep breath. He felt terrible. Nerves, stress, emotion, the feeling that everything was about to unravel any second.

They went in, produced their passes, waited for the lift. Annalise forced a smile, her face looked strained. He could only guess what his looked like.

Graham started to count. The lift took forever.

A bell sounded, the lift arrived, people tumbled out. Graham stood back, staring at his shoes while the lift emptied.

He stepped inside, his legs feeling heavy, the lift doors refusing to close, Annalise pressing the button for the fifth floor over and over again.

They ascended in silence, taking it in turns to check their watches, their arms rising and falling like a conjoined slow-motion drummer. Graham counted the floors, timed the intervals between each light flickering on and off.

The fifth floor. Nearly there. People trickling into 501. The sound of laughter and conversation from inside.

Graham and Annalise waited outside—two, three yards away from the entrance. Graham knelt down to tie a shoelace—anything to make him feel less visible.

He stood up and adjusted his tie.

"Are you okay?" Annalise asked and immediately put her hand to her mouth. "Don't answer that!" she hissed through her fingers. "Sorry."

Graham swallowed hard. His hands were starting to shake, his stomach churned. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to turn and flee.

He took a deep breath, turned to Annalise and whispered, "Are the girls all here?"

She closed her eyes. Graham checked his watch—11:56—could he survive four more minutes? More people arrived. Graham avoided eye contact, keeping his head lowered and his mind counting down the seconds.

"They're all here," whispered Annalise. "Except Twelve and Fifteen."

Graham could guess where Twelve was—watching over her sleeping Graham. He hoped he knew where Fifteen was.

Graham took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. You don't have to do this, his little voice said. Wait
until tomorrow or the next day. Work on the plan, don't rush it.
 

He turned in the doorway and whispered to Annalise.

"Remember, it's up to you and the girls to keep this going. Stay in contact the entire time. Impress upon the Grahams that this is the only way to stop the world unravelling. Tell them that the world changes because they let it. Tell them to interact and choose and talk and do whatever they have to do. The world will spin for a while, maybe an hour, maybe a day, but when it stops, it stops for good. Tell them that. They'll listen, they know what's happening."

"You're crying, Graham."

"Am I?"

She wiped a tear from his face with her finger and wished him luck. He took a deep breath, checked his watch for the final time and stepped into the room.

He slipped in unnoticed as he'd slipped in so many times before. There were twenty, maybe thirty people in the room. Not a crowd but enough to make it difficult to walk between the desks. Brenda was in the far corner, thanking people for coming. It was a typical birthday drink. Good-natured heckling, friendly banter, alcohol in plastic cups.

Graham pushed his way close to the front. Holly was at her desk, a party hat on her head and a cup in her hand. Red wine, thought Graham as he pushed closer. Holly always drank red wine.

It was time. He was in place, he was ready. He . . . he couldn't do it. Not here, not now, not with these people! He had a history with them. Seventeen years of silence. He was Graham Smith, weird but harmless. He couldn't break that spell. The weight of time was too great, too powerful. In this building he'd never be anyone other than the old, silent, invisible Graham.

He felt a hand rest gently on his right shoulder. He felt Annalise's breath against his neck.

"You can do it, Graham," she whispered. "We believe in you."

He closed his eyes and thought of another Annalise, the one from Boston, the one without a number. She'd believed in him. She'd dragged him out of his silent world. Could she do it again? He tried to imagine the entire room in their underwear. And quickly released the thought—Brenda was like a sister and Annalise . . .

He summoned other images instead. Annalise Seven and her cardboard box. Annalise One by the fridge, Fifteen on the roof, Tamisha's face in the attic window. So many sacrifices by so many people. People he'd barely known, people he'd never know. All of them working towards this one moment.

He couldn't let them down, he couldn't let anyone down. He was the key.

"Holly," he said, his voice shaking and throat tightening. He coughed and tried again, louder, his voice rising to a shout. "Holly, listen to me. Holly!"

Holly glanced towards him, her face smiling, not a care in the world.

Graham swallowed hard. Holly's eyes widened in surprise. Other faces turned towards him. People close by stopped talking.

"How's your mother, Holly?" Graham said, maintaining the level of his voice—one notch down from a shout, several notches above that of every other voice in the room.

"She's fine, Graham," Holly said, regaining her composure and waving a plastic cup. "Do you want a drink?"

"You have to ring her now, Holly. It's important."

All conversation in the room ceased immediately.

Holly looked confused. "Did she give you a message for me?" She looked towards Brenda. "She didn't ring earlier, did she, Bren?"

Brenda shook her head. She looked stunned.

"Ring her now," Graham continued. "Ask about her headaches."

Holly's face dropped. She started to speak and then grabbed the phone.

Graham waited. He had to be right. And even if he wasn't, Holly's mother had to have a checkup. She had to be made aware of the risk.

A few giggles from the back of the room broke the silence. A silence reimposed the moment Holly spoke.

"Mum, is everything okay?" Holly's voice rose half an octave. There was a gap while her mother replied. Graham strained to make sense of the low buzz of conversation. He could feel the entire room lean collectively towards Holly's desk.

"What headaches, mum?" Holly's voice took on a growing panic. "You never said anything about headaches before."

"She needs a brain scan," said Graham, keeping his voice as loud as he dare. "Tell her she'll be fine. It's operable. You've caught it in time."

"Mum, stay where you are! I'm coming home now!"

It had begun.

He shut out the gasps and the rush of confused conversation and focused on Brenda. It was her turn now. He walked towards her, slow and purposeful, not glancing left or right, blinkered, her face filling his vision. She stared back, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted.

People moved out of his way, a desk scraped along the floor. Holly grabbed her belongings and fled. Graham held out his hands and laid them gently on Brenda's shoulders. She didn't move. He looked into her eyes.