The Chosen Seed (34 page)
Mr Vine’s eyes widened, but still he continued to listen intently.
‘If we do not act immediately, the Experiment will destroy Cassius Jones, and then, no doubt, they will decide that it is my turn for that same fate, and I too will be left somewhere out there in the Chaos, screaming for all eternity. That is not your concern, but what should be is that very soon, as soon as he knows for a certainty that
He
can get home,
He
is going to arrive here with an army that we could never hope to match, and he will wreak such devastation here that he will leave nothing but a ball of sterile dust and a trail of broken bodies floating through space.
They
will die quickly. For us it will take longer – but die we shall; they will make it so, unnatural as that act is for any of us.
He
can and will kill us, and when he is done,
He
will turn his back and go home. His vengeance will be terrible, and it will be complete. Some – or at least one – might return with
Him
, but I can promise you that it will not be the likes of you or me.’
He leaned in closer through the gap, and his breath warmed the young man’s skin as he spoke. ‘Remember
Him
, Mr Vine; remember why we did what we did. And trust in me, like you did back then.’ He paused to let his words sink in, then added, ‘Oh, I should have said—’ He paused and smiled, softly. ‘There is no such thing as the Dying, Mr Vine. There is only
ennuie
.’
When Cassius Jones’ first scream echoed along the corridors Mr Vine finally unlocked the door.
D
r Tim Hask stood against the wall as DCI Ian Heddings tore DI Charles Ramsey to shreds, and although the senior officer never once addressed him personally throughout the entire tirade, Hask knew it was meant as much for him, no matter if he was only a consultant, not a member of the team. He could understand why; he’d spent so much time and effort here he felt like one of the Paddington Green boys these days. And of course it was a matter of record that, like Ramsey, he believed that there was some doubt as to the matter of Cass Jones’ charges of murder. On reflection, he thought it was quite an achievement on Heddings’ part that he hadn’t actively bawled him out yet.
‘So let me get this straight, just for my own sanity—’ Heddings paced from one side of his desk to the other. ‘You came out of Armstrong’s room and did not notice Cassius Jones coming the other way. He then had a nice cosy chat – for
ten
minutes, I believe? – with his ex-sergeant? And then he strolled out of the building and disappeared. And you didn’t see him?’
‘No, I didn’t!’ It was Ramsey’s third denial, and his eyes were blazing. ‘We were in with Craven when he died and all hell was breaking loose—’
‘—and we’ll come back to that craziness in a minute.’
Heddings poked a finger at Ramsey. ‘Bright lights and locked doors – what the hell is wrong with you?’
‘Listen, we weren’t the only people there,’ Ramsey started. ‘There were two sergeants, supposedly watching Armstrong’s and Craven’s doors – and they didn’t see Jones either!’
‘They don’t know him like you do.’
‘To be fair,’ Hask cut in, ‘everyone in the building was wearing masks and scrubs – except for me, thanks to my somewhat obvious proportions, it is extremely difficult to identify anyone, police, hospital staff or otherwise.’
‘Thank you, Doctor, but I did not ask your opinion. And now that Mr Craven is dead and DI Ramsey is suspended pending inquiry, I think perhaps it’s time we terminated your current contract.’
‘
Suspended?
’ Ramsey jumped to his feet again. ‘What the hell for? Because we didn’t spot Jones while we were dealing with the death of a suspect? It won’t stand up—’
‘You let a man – an ex-colleague from a station already fighting corruption charges – walk in and then leave right under your nose. This is a man wanted on charges of terrorism and murder, and on top of that, he was your friend and you think might be innocent. How the hell do you think that is currently playing out in the offices upstairs? What do you think they had to say to me about
that
? They think you let him walk – and if they don’t think that, then they think the newspapers certainly will, and you know what?
I don’t disagree!
’
‘What about Castor Bright?’ Hask asked. He felt slightly sorry for DCI Heddings. It was clear he’d taken a roasting from his superiors every bit as harsh as the one he was currently dishing out to Ramsey. ‘Anything on him?’
‘Forget about Bright,’ Heddings snapped.
‘What do you mean – how can we? He’s part of the investigation, regardless of Jones’ guilt or innocence.’
‘I mean,
forget
about him.’
‘Does he work for The Bank?’ Hask asked.
‘Bright is irrelevant: that’s what I have been told, that’s what the Commissioner was told, and that’s what I’m telling you.’
‘Really?’ Ramsey got to his feet. ‘Because normally when there’s that much
telling
going on, you find that the subject is really fucking relevant.’
Even Heddings flinched at Ramsey’s cursing; it wasn’t normally the soft-voiced American’s style.
‘Just what the hell is going on here?’ Ramsey asked, ‘because I sure as shit don’t have a clue. Am I being suspended because Jones snuck into the hospital under my nose, or because I’m trying to find out more about someone who may well be responsible for several deaths, including setting Jones up?’
Hask watched the two men staring so angrily at each other. Did Heddings even know the answer, or was he just doing what he’d been told to do?
‘Let’s just call it a bit of both,’ Heddings said eventually. His voice had softened, and maybe with those few words he’d already said more than he should. ‘The point is, you can argue about it as much as you like, but the situation isn’t going to change. But this will blow over in a few days, and you’ll be back. For now, I’ll assign Davies to the Jones case.’
Ramsey let out a derisive snort. ‘He’s got no chance of finding him. From what I hear he couldn’t find his own asshole if he was buck-naked and standing over a mirror.’
Hask held back his own laugh, but Heddings shrugged wearily. ‘Trying to find a police offer in this nick without a stain on his reputation wasn’t the easiest task. He’s the best
I can do. Now go and enjoy a few days’ paid holiday. I wish to God I could.’
On the way to the pub they called David Fletcher. He too had been dragged over the coals, but at least he still had his job – the Commander of the ATD couldn’t be suspended with the same ease as a humble DI. Hask thought it might just work in their favour; he couldn’t believe Fletcher cared much for being told to back off from something so suspicious. He hadn’t said outright that he’d continue his own investigation, but he had insisted he wanted to be kept in the loop.
Hask sipped his vodka and tonic as Ramsey half-drained his first pint. ‘So, what now?’ the profiler asked. He didn’t suppose for one second that Charles Ramsey was about to go home and sit about watching daytime TV until he was allowed back into the fold. They had still to find out the truth about Mr Bright, but that fact didn’t need to be spoken.
How could either of them walk away after seeing the transformation that Craven had undergone just before he died? Hask still hadn’t really processed those few brief moments, the way he hadn’t been able to breathe; the light and sound that had been so sharp and exquisite that it had hurt. Caroline Hurke had not been suffering from delusions – or if she was, then so too were Tim Hask and Charles Ramsey.
‘I’m going to call a few friends in the media.’ Ramsey took a long swallow of his beer, but his eyes were narrowed and focused, and somewhere completely different entirely. ‘I want to make sure that the whole world knows I’m off the case.’ He glanced at Hask. ‘You too, if you don’t mind.’
‘My reputation can take it.’
‘Good. You cost a lot of money, so you being dismissed by the Met will get a few headlines, especially if we make it
clear that your contract was cancelled because you now think that Jones was set up by an unknown, very powerful man.’
Hask smiled. ‘The Commissioner will then deny it, and that will make the story run for longer, yes?’
‘Exactly.’
A flutter of excitement buzzed in his stomach. This could be fun. ‘So talk me through your plan, Detective Inspector.’
‘The way I see it, we need to find one of two people if we are ever to understand what the hell is going on here. And I also know that we’re highly unlikely to find either Mr Bright or Cass Jones: Bright’s a virtual ghost, and Jones isn’t leaving any tracks behind him. However, there’s a chance, that one of
them
might come looking for us if we play it right.’
‘Cass Jones?’
‘Exactly. He’s out there on his own, and we know he’s watching the news because otherwise he wouldn’t have got to the hospital so fast. If he realises that we’re on his side, then he might get in touch, especially if he needs us.’
‘Or,’ Hask said, leaning forward and resting his heavy arms on the table, ‘he might think it’s a trap.’
‘He might do if it was just me,’ Ramsey said, ‘but not you: you’re a civilian. Using you to trap him would give the Commissioner a huge headache – and on top of that I don’t think you’d agree to something like that; it’s not part of your normal observational and assessment role. I’ve looked at your file and you’re always impartial, and this wouldn’t be. Cass knows that as much as I do.’
‘How nice that you think so highly of me.’ Hask smiled. ‘Do you want to make the calls now, or shall we have another drink first?’
‘Let’s have another drink.’ Ramsey grinned. ‘After all, it’s your shout. And then after that, let’s start this ball rolling.’
N
ot just cold, but freezing black cold … His soul ached with loneliness as he flew forward, stretching further and further into the empty darkness. He had no sense of time passing; there was no
before
the black, or if there was, it was simply the fragment of a dream he chased, but couldn’t cling to. He had been here for ever, propelling himself endlessly across or through or around. He wasn’t breathing, but his throat was raw. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, a strip of bright life tumbling through space, he wondered if he should be afraid. He was lost, and he would be here for ever, and yet he didn’t feel afraid. There was something familiar about the darkness. He’d been here before, a long time ago, he was sure of it
.
After aeons drifting in the depths he gasped as swirls of light and colour and terrible beauty filled the void ahead. He ached just looking at the glory, and he cried at his smallness in its presence. It was Chaos. There was Chaos in the darkness, and it tugged at something inside him, pulling him closer, and awe and fear threatened to rip his soul apart. The Chaos was shrieking, and it made him frown – the Chaos hadn’t screamed before, and he wondered how he knew about
before,
and as he spun towards the hues that made his eyes bleed he no longer knew what was before and what was after. There was only
now.
He could get lost in the colours that burned so brightly and rolled him around and pushed him from one thread to another, but even among their fierce beauty he could see patches of golden Glow sparking here and there. Unlike the dancing Chaos, the bursts of Glow didn’t move, and an image filled his head: of flies, stuck in a spider’s web. He trembled as he passed the golden haze, and it screamed, tormented. The scream didn’t stop. He wondered if the scream would ever stop
—
He tried to propel himself forward, looking for a path, but the Chaos moved him this way and that, trapping him in its maze. Colour was everywhere, confusing him and always peppered with the awful screams of the Glow. He paused and forced himself to be still. There had been a path here once, all white and glorious – he
knew
that, although he had no idea how he knew, or even who
he
was; all he knew was that there had once been a path, that they had built. Where was it now, hidden somewhere in the blinding, dancing colours? And who were
they?
Where did the path lead?
A strand of purple and blue and pink slid free from the mass and he gasped as it slithered stickily around him. He found himself screaming, an awful sound that grew louder as he shook it away. It was a trap; the Chaos would hold him here if it could, just like it held the patches of shrieking golden light now embedded within its colours. He fought the energy that propelled him forwards, instead floating free. He needed to get out. He needed to go back
.
A distant sound teased him, music, just out of reach. The notes were pure and powerful, and he tried to look beyond the Chaos, to see through the colours, to find the source, but he thought the effort might drive him mad so instead he listened. It was the sound of trumpets, clear bursts of impatient music, and now it terrified him more than the Chaos did. Some part of him remembered the music, just like it had remembered the Chaos in the darkness, and more colours stretched towards him and now he found he was too tired to fight them. He thought he might be crying. He thought perhaps he was here, and perhaps he might be here for ever, and the sudden endlessness of eternity was shards of icy pain in his head
.
The colours were coming for him. The Chaos was
—
—and he gasped, sucking air into his raw chest, and the world spun in a mass of nausea and confusion and heat. Someone pulled off the eye mask and he found himself blinking rapidly – and for a moment he was purely sensory, his body reacting to his surroundings while his consciousness pulled back from the void. He was here and there at the same time— He wanted to puke.
‘Get him out of there – quickly.’
‘He looks terrible.’ The hushed voice sounded shocked.
Confused and barely conscious, Cass turned and through the haze he saw a young man, a stranger, and he was yanking him free from the various monitors. He didn’t recognise him – but he’d known the first voice; he would recognise that one anywhere. And in this moment he knew it better than he knew himself.
Mr Bright
.