The Chosen Seed (39 page)

Cass wasn’t sure what to say; he was glad Mr Bright had had the foresight to take the gun, but it hinted at a coldness that he couldn’t trust. Perhaps it wasn’t coldness, though. Maybe it was just that for a long time Mr Bright had been forced to think of every eventuality.

Rotor blades cut through the quiet and both men looked up.

‘Who the fuck is that?’ Cass shouted, watching the Bell JetRanger. The helicopter was approaching fast, and it was definitely coming down to land, and pretty much right where they were standing. Cass looked back at the door. ‘Fuck it, let’s get inside. Friend or foe, they can find us in there. We’ll lose the others.’

Mr Bright was already ahead of him, and as Cass raced after him, he had a moment to admire how light on his feet the apparently middle-aged man was.

Two men were slumped over the reception desk, and Cass was relieved to find them both unconscious, not dead. After what had happened to Father Michael and the Steves he was expecting a trail of eviscerated bodies.

Mr Bright focused on the various security screens the CCTV cameras were feeling to the reception monitor, his eyes darting from one to the other until figures came into view. ‘Downstairs,’ he said. ‘Lower ground.’

‘And what’s your plan, again?’ Cass asked.

‘Stop them.’

‘I was hoping for a little more detail.’

‘Sometimes, Cassius Jones,’ Mr Bright said with a twinkle, ‘even I just have to wing it, as they say.’

‘I thought you might want a little help.’ A shadow fell across the doorway.

‘Mr Dublin,’ Mr Bright said. ‘This is a surprise.’

Cass automatically raised his gun: this was the fucker who had strapped him into that machine, the bastard who had almost stranded him in the Chaos. He could still feel that stuff sticking to him in the cold, and hear the screams of the lost … And he had so very nearly been one of them—

Mr Bright’s hand gently pushed the nose of the gun down.

‘Let’s put our differences aside for the moment, shall we, gentlemen?’ Mr Bright said with a smile. ‘For my part, Mr Dublin, I am very pleased to see you.’

Cass said nothing, but turned and jogged towards the stairs.

Chapter Forty-Two

‘C
an’t you go any faster?’ Fletcher asked, punching more numbers into his mobile and tapping his foot impatiently.

‘Not if you want us to get there alive,’ Ramsey said, never taking his eyes off the road. The siren was wailing on the roof and he was going as fast as he could down the winding country roads. The motorway part of the journey had been fine – everyone got out of the way for a police car on a dual carriageway – but first they’d had to get out of London’s endlessly gridlocked traffic, and now they were having to negotiate narrow lanes and farm vehicles with no sense of urgency. Ramsey could understand Fletcher’s frustration; hell, he was feeling it himself, but he couldn’t risk killing them, let alone any random strangers. He was a London policeman and he normally had a sergeant driving for him. His high-speed didn’t get much practice.

‘I still can’t get hold of Pretorius, and all the receptionists at Harwell are on answerphone, saying lines are busy. Jones isn’t answering either. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is going on there?’

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ Ramsey said, ‘look, we’re nearly there. Just another six miles or so. Couldn’t you have got your people out there? Surely they could have helicopter’d in and be dealing with it by now?’

‘I don’t know what kind of power you think I have,’ Fletcher flipped his phone shut and tossed it, disgusted, onto the dashboard, ‘but I think commanding that kind of manpower on the say-so of a suspected murderer and a policeman just thrown off a case would be likely to get me fired too.’ He sighed and looked out the window. ‘And if Pretorius is a terrorist of some kind then there’s a good chance someone in the ATD or the team he’s been working with at Harwell is a traitor. I can’t believe he’s working alone, and I don’t want him warned off so he’s gone before we get there.’

‘Cass and this Castor Bright are there.’ Hask leaned his large bulk through the gap between the front seats. ‘If Jones isn’t answering his phone then I’m going to presume it’s because he’s too busy dealing with this situation to chat. And as for this Mr Bright … well, if he’s half as Machiavellian as we think he is, we can probably rest assured that he’s not the kind of man to rush into certain death without a well-thought-out plan.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s not rule them out quite yet, shall we?’

The small room filled with computer equipment was hot, even though a fan whirred away somewhere. Lights twinkled on various panels and the air was almost humming with electricity. Gabbi eased the old man into a chair and waited for his coughing fit to end. Bright blood splattered the carpet, and he sighed as he wiped his mouth clean for the hundredth time that afternoon.

‘There’s no lock on the door?’ the First asked as Pretorius settled in behind one of the many consoles.

‘No one else knows how to use this equipment,’ he said haltingly. ‘They think it’s some kind of maths experiment.’ His voice sounded as if he hadn’t had a proper conversation
in a long time. ‘Locks make people curious,’ he continued. ‘Everyone wants to know what happens in locked rooms.’ His voice was different here, but it was still a deadened monotone, as if Pretorius couldn’t quite release any of the emotion inside, even in the lilt of his words. ‘Even at home.’ His fingers tapped the keyboard and numbers flashed across a screen just above his head. ‘I learned that from my father, a long time ago.’ He glanced up. ‘Two of the other rooms are locked. Not this one.’

‘Clever.’ The First granted him a small smile and then nodded at the keyboard. ‘Is that it? Have you done it?’

‘Not yet. It takes time. There are four sets of codes to enter and they need two minutes between each to allow the signal to function and the paths to open.’

‘Why didn’t you start it already? Why were you waiting for us outside?’ The venom in the boy’s voice was clear, but Pretorius didn’t appear to notice it. He frowned slightly, as if confused. ‘I needed to be sure it was you. You told me that one day someone might try and trick me. I had to see you to know.’

As much as she wanted to get home quickly, Gabbi smiled. Pretorius had always been so literal: the First had commanded his loyalty, and he’d followed his instructions to the letter, even though it had now slowed them down.

‘You know it’s me now,’ the First said coldly, ‘so get on with it.’

The old man burst into another hacking cough, and as much as she loved Jarrod Pretorius, a part of her wished that he was more like the rest of them and had just started the sequence earlier. When the old man’s breathing was back to somewhere near the steady wet rattle which was the best he could manage, she left him and joined the boy and Pretorius at the console.

‘Something’s happening,’ she said after the second number sequence appeared on the screen. ‘I can feel it.’ It was true, when she opened her mind to look for a way out, she could see white light in the darkness: the first shining paths. ‘They’re opening!’

Chapter Forty-Three

T
he door was open a crack, and they approached quietly, their footsteps muffled by the industrial carpet that lined the corridors. Cass wiped his sweaty palm against his thigh, then tightened his grip on the gun. At least there was no one keeping watch. They had that advantage.

Mr Bright gestured for Mr Dublin to stay outside, and then stared at Cass. This was it. Mr Bright slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside.

An old man was sitting in an office chair, his laboured breathing the loudest sound in the room. There was blood on his shirt and the dark, toothless hole of his mouth stood out against his pale skin. It took Cass a moment to recognise him as the violin-playing tramp of only a few months ago. He was so close to death that his body was mocking him with its corpse-like appearance. His smile was lost, and no music danced from him.

‘I knew
He
would send you two,’ Mr Bright said quietly, ‘and part of me is sorry. I am fond of you.’

The three figures around the console had been so lost in what they were doing that they jumped at Mr Bright’s voice. The sight told Cass all he needed to know. Luke – no, not Luke but
the First
– was peering intently over one shoulder of the seated man who had to be Jarrod Pretorius. When he turned to face them, his eyes flared with anger. They were
old eyes, and any pretence of naïveté was long gone.

‘Keep working,’ he said, the child’s voice a chilling contrast with his commanding tone.

‘You disappeared,’ Mr Bright said. His eyes were fixed on the man at the desk who had stopped typing, despite the First’s insistence. Jarrod Pretorius was staring at Mr Bright, his dark eyes wide. ‘Is this what you’ve been doing all this time?’ Mr Bright continued. ‘Keeping the Walkways closed?’

Pretorius nodded slowly. His eyes were full of trepidation, and something else – something Cass couldn’t quite figure out. And then he got it: Jarrod Pretorius looked like a child who thought he was about to be told off. Could he be—?

‘Oh, my son,’ Mr Bright said sadly. ‘I wish you’d talked to me. Why?’

‘He asked me to,’ Pretorius said. His voice was rough, and he spoke with a strong South African accent. ‘He’s my friend.’ He rubbed his head with one hand. ‘I had to go somewhere alone, to concentrate.’

‘For all that time?’

‘Do the next sequence,’ the First cut in, and Jarrod Pretorius returned his attention to the keyboard. Cass stared at him.
This
was Mr Bright’s son? How long had they been separated? He looked up at the girl on the other side of the First. He remembered her red hair, and he remembered the sound of her voice on the telephone.
The boy is the key
. Her hand rested on Pretorius’ shoulder and her eyes kept flicking upwards to the ceiling. Her face shone with expectation and excitement. Whatever was happening, they didn’t have much time to stop it – but Mr Bright was behaving as if they had all the time in the world.

‘Why?’ he asked.

‘Believe it or not, I did it to protect us,’ the boy said. ‘After we started all this, after we got settled, an emissary came – I
never told you.
He
was angry;
He
wanted me to apologise and go home. As if I was still a child.’ He laughed a little at the memory. ‘I told her I’d think about it, and then I spoke to Pretorius. He said he could lock the Walkways back from here, but he couldn’t do both routes.’ He leaned back and crossed his arms. It was a manly pose, relaxed and easy; it looked wrong on the nine-year-old boy’s body.

‘I decided to close the return – not just close it, but booby-trap it so that anyone on the other side would hear the suffering of those stuck in the Chaos. It was the safest option – it meant that none of our number would be able to run back with tales of what we had achieved in the hope that
he
would somehow reward them. And
He
would know that anyone who came here would not be able to get back. It kept us safe from
Him. He
wouldn’t send the army, not with no way out.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Mr Bright said. He hadn’t moved from his position by the door but from the corner of his eyes, Cass could see Mr Dublin just beyond him. The blond man’s eyes were starting to
Glow
.

‘Honestly? I didn’t want to worry you. You were working so hard – building everything – organising our new society; this was something I could take care of. Afterwards, of course, when I realised the toll it was taking on your son, I decided that perhaps it was a secret I should keep to myself.’ His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I think perhaps Mr Solomon suspected something, but he never asked. He was a loyal friend to both of us.’

‘And now you’re going to sacrifice us to
him
– after everything we did together, how we fought with you.’

The boy sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I’m tired. I just want to go home.’

‘Running back to Daddy?’ For the first time, Cass heard
the stinging contempt in Mr Bright’s voice. ‘You do know what he’s planning? You know what he’ll do to the rest of us – those who aren’t killed in the battle – and there
will
be a battle, even if we know we can’t possibly fight the destruction
He
’s bringing.
They
will all die, all of them, and we will die beside them. All this will be finished.’ He gestured around him. ‘And all because
you’re tired and you want to go home
?’

‘You weren’t stuck in that old body for all those years,’ the boy hissed. ‘You weren’t
dying
!’

Mr Bright laughed aloud. ‘And you’re not in the old body now, are you? I took care of that, just as we planned.’

‘I was
afraid
,’ the First said. ‘I won’t feel that way again.’

‘I don’t want you to fight,’ Jarrod Pretorius said. He looked up. There was something strange about him, Cass thought. Was he autistic, was that it? ‘I don’t like it. I didn’t like the fighting before.’

‘Just finish the sequence and there’ll be no more fighting.’ The boy spoke to the man as if the man were the child.

Cass’ head was spinning. Something
was
happening. The part of him who had travelled so far in the Experiment could feel it. The echo of trumpets was getting louder.

‘One more,’ Pretorius said softly. ‘Nearly done.’

Cass looked from Mr Bright to the First and back again. Did Mr Bright really think they could
talk
their way out of this situation? Was he that stupid? And the answer came back at him immediately: no. No, he wasn’t. He was keeping the First occupied with chatter, to the point that everyone else in the room was completely ignoring Cass. He wasn’t one of them, after all, and definitely not in the First’s eyes. He was so concerned with the wood, he couldn’t see the trees.

The gun was gripped firmly in his hand and he raised it
suddenly. He might not be able to hurt them too much, but there was one thing he could do. Before the girl or the child had time to gasp out a warning, he fired two shots into the console, nearly taking off Pretorius’ hands.