The Quantum Objective (7 page)

The unfamiliar scent irritated his throat. A bleeping noise, the rustle of crisp sheets and whispers tightened his lids. The bleeps accelerated, echoing the speed of his heart as the nerves in the room seeped through his efforts to stay calm. The faster it went, the more scared they got. He could feel the shivers and shakes coming on. What are they so scared of?
He squinted into bright overhead lamps and could feel a number of strangers near him. Three, maybe more…further back. He was in a high bed under a soft grey blanket; he pulled it right up to his chin with shaking fingers. The cold temperature exacerbated his shivers.
As his eyes adjusted to the light he saw how large the room was. The ceiling was far away in a world of white and his bed had a special place in the centre. Around it a thick wall of glass stretched all the way up, shielding four rows of computer-covered desks and people in grey overalls; some busy with their screens, others craning toward his bed.
He’d seen photos of a hospital and wondered if this was one. Didn’t look much like it. His mother wasn’t here that was sure, instead there were two men and a woman.
The lady sheltered behind a tall man with hair in a tight ponytail. The man closest to the bed watched the monitors and Galen alternately. The fear of close danger filled the room and he looked about for the cause, but the room spun and he vomited.
The lady rushed to help. She cleaned his bare chest, which had a broad strap around it, and replaced his blanket before dashing back to her cover.
‘The tranquilliser will make you dizzy for a while; they gave you a high dose,’ said the closest man. ‘I’m Dr. Baudin. This is Dr. Mullany. He’s a physicist, just like your mother.’ He looked expectant, as though he meant something other than what he’d said.
‘Over there is Nurse Freya. She’s here to look after you, till you feel better.’
The nausea receded and Galen realised there was actually someone else there, behind his bed. He tried to see but before he could turn, a small man in brand new clothes moved into his line of sight. He had large brown eyes and the fear in him was shelled by fragile confidence, like an egg.
‘I’m Bazir,’ he moved forward and offered his hand. ‘Please let me know if there’s something I can do to make this easier.’
There was warm concern in his gaze and soft reassurance in his tone. It was like a stroke to the head, but the kindness was not like Rian’s. It radiated from the man’s skin rather than his insides. Galen didn’t move and Bazir slowly took back his hand with a smile.
‘Where is my mum?’
‘She’s close and if you’re a good boy, she’ll remain unharmed,’ Bazir looked into his eyes, ‘there must be no trouble here like there was in France. Do you know what I’m talking about?’
Galen nodded slowly.
‘Trouble like that won’t get you very far here and will mean only suffering for you and your mother. We don’t want to harm you, only to learn from you and her. Later today, once you feel better, you will meet her for dinner.’
The beeping noise slowed and the tension in the room eased. Bazir gave a sympathetic smile, ‘I know this is all new and no doubt very scary, but it will be ok in the end. You’re nearly through the initial tests and observations. After that you’ll be moved to your room. In the meantime, if you’d like anything to eat or drink, you mustn't be shy.’
He withdrew then and gestured for the two doctors to follow.
They passed through a sliding panel in the glass, and everyone hurried to their work. Galen lay back. His chest felt hollow, limbs heavy. He hoped with all his heart that his mum was really ok. She was going to be really mad that he’d gone out of her sight; he hadn’t even meant to do it. He was awestruck at her power; the first millisecond an order was broken, disaster had hit. A sharp pang twisted his stomach.
I’m going to miss Rian. I wonder how long before I make another friend.
*
Beth stared at the pale yellow ceiling for a full minute before realising she wasn’t at home. The dart and Galen’s disappearance rushed back so fast, she shot to her feet and gagged, only just making it to the en suite before emptying her stomach. She lay on the cool tiles till equilibrium returned.
The luxurious bathroom stated this was no ordinary cage. She clambered to her feet, wiping beads of cold sweat from her upper lip and forehead. She stumbled back into the bedroom and banged on the glossy wooden door. It was locked from the outside and may as well have been steel. There were no windows, only a skylight sealed with thick glass. Queasy, she slumped in a soft armchair and took in her prison.
This was how she imagined a five-star hotel might look. Never having been in one, she was unsure if they came with silk-covered furniture. The walls were papered in silk too.
She’d never paid the least attention to wallpaper, but its beauty was impossible to ignore, even while her entirety was screaming for her baby. She crawled on her hands and knees to touch it with her fingers. It seemed to be padded and depicted thousands of exquisite butterflies and flowers scattered by a strong wind. It shimmered and glowed with golden yellow tones and she thought it might burst into life at any moment. It was work of immense talent.
Ok calm down, it’s just wallpaper, Irving. Don’t lose your head. She drew herself away to find clues about where she was, or who her wealthy captors might be. A fridge was stocked with every kind of drink and another full of freshly cut fruit and chocolates.
Is this supposed to impress me, or do they just live like this? She opened a door to a small second room, which held a deep closet neatly stocked with clothing. She closed the door, then, after a pause reopened it. With trepidation she reached out for a garment, checked the label and with shaky fingers checked the next, then the next. She ripped open the shoe bags that lined one wall. After the fifth, she stopped and dropped to the floor when her legs gave out.
Every piece of clothing was her size. This room had been carefully prepared for her and it looked like they were expecting her to stay for some time.
Her heart raced like it would burst from her chest, she couldn’t breathe and thought for a moment she’d been poisoned. Why would they buy clothes for me and then kill me? That makes no sense. Irving, think!
Then she remembered a leaflet she’d read in a doctor’s waiting room when she was six.
Panic and its symptoms
. She saw it as though it were in her hands now.
Panic? This is no time to panic. Get a grip for God’s sake. The instructions had said to limit oxygen intake - paper bag. She pulled one of the empty shoe bags to her mouth and breathed slowly into it. Ten minutes later she heaved her body off the floor and headed for the bathroom. She had a warm shower before pulling on clean clothes, sat with a small bowl of fruit and took some honeyed water from the fridge.
I may not know who they are, but I’ll be ready for these bastards when they come.
When she finished, there was nothing left to do but think of Galen. Panic clutched at her again and she reached for a bag before lying on the bed.
They must be treating him well. Look at my room; they surely wouldn’t give him less? I wonder if he’s nearby, he might hear if I call. Bad idea. He’d probably panic, thinking I was trapped. I’ll have to wait.
A sharp rap at the door startled her. She grabbed the knife from the fruit bowl, slipped it underneath her and sat back carefully on the bed. After a second knock, she realised she ought to respond.
‘Yes, come in,’ she injected as much authority as she could into her voice. A small, sharply dressed man entered. He stood for a long moment, taking in her clothes and the empty fruit bowl. She sensed he missed little.
‘Good afternoon, Elizabeth. I’m sorry to meet you under such difficult circumstances. My name is Bazir,’ he glanced around the room. ‘I hope your room is to your satisfaction.’ He had a strong American accent, but she couldn’t tell what sort. It wasn’t like Mimi’s.
The deferential treatment was as unexpected as the luxury accommodation. The men who’d chased her halfway across the globe had been tough professionals who would have killed her without batting an eye.
Now I’m being treated as a guest; why wasn’t I simply invited from the start? It’s so peculiar.
Bazir seemed to take her silence as affirmation and moved into the room. He sat on the armchair and watched her with soft eyes. He had a pleasant face. Not handsome as such. The kind of open readable face you could trust. He leaned slightly forward and spoke with quiet concern.
‘Beth…is it ok if I call you Beth?’
She swallowed hard and firmly pressed down the urge to cry uncontrollably. A deep panic she hadn’t experienced when faced with guns and knives loomed over her. She’d known then to fight and run. Now, she was disoriented. Am I obliged to be polite when I want to scream at him for my son? She nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the thick cream carpet.
‘Thank you. Firstly, I want you to know that Galen is completely safe.’
Her head snapped up, checking the truth in his eyes. He smiled.
‘You will see him shortly, but I want to give you some information about your circumstances first. This will hopefully save any misunderstanding later.’ He paused to get her full attention.
‘Your host is not interested in harming you or your son. Clearly he could have achieved that very easily. His interest in you is purely…scientific. My job is to ensure you cooperate and that everything moves ahead smoothly. So far, things have not gone to plan and the delay to our research has proven costly, unexpected and…irritating.’ He walked over to the butterflied wallpaper and brushed a finger over the fabric.
‘Khoen does not tolerate incompetence, and I have personally taken responsibility for the delay.’ His fingers clasped behind his back. His smile broadened, ‘fortunately, we are finally on track. You and Galen will dine with him this evening. Someone will come to fetch you in a couple of hours and I suggest you rest till then.’
He moved towards the door, and then turned back.
‘By the way, there is no escape from here. We are nowhere, aboard a ship that never docks. Several miles of ocean always surround us and all means of transportation are strictly controlled. Any confused attempt to leave will be met with…discipline.’
A ship? I’m on a ship? Shock had her looking round the room with new eyes. She could feel no movement of the ocean, no sound of waves. She would never have guessed she was at sea.
‘Who is Khoen?’ She finally found her voice. ‘Why didn’t he invite us instead of kidnapping us? I can only assume his intentions are malevolent. Will he ever let us go?’
Bazir raised a palm to silence her. He paused and spoke carefully.
‘Khoen is unique – a man unlike any other I have known or heard of. I’ve worked for him now for more than 15 years,’ Beth got the impression this was something of an achievement. ‘He is not to be crossed lightly.’ Bazir’s warning trailed off into a whisper as he looked deep into her eyes. Beth suddenly found it difficult to keep a straight face.
Sheesh, what theatrics.
He opened the door and spoke over his shoulder, ‘please leave the knife here. There will be a fine selection at the dinner table if you choose to go down that route.’ The door clicked softly behind him leaving Beth open-mouthed.
Who are these people? She slid the knife carefully out from under her, and tossed it on the table in self-disgust. It was a stupid thing to have considered. At least Galen is safe. She sprawled on the bed with a frustrated groan.
I’m going to have to think my way out of here; deal with this Khoen person directly. I wonder if he’s a complete psychopath or if there’ll be a chance to reason with him. Beth pushed away a surge of trepidation. She focused on Galen and the imperative need to remain calm.
*
Precisely two hours later, a man dressed in resplendent livery arrived to escort her to dinner. As Beth walked behind him she marvelled at the intricate detail of his uniform. She looked about the long corridor and slowed to a halt. Her wide gaze took in the endless cream carpet and fine panelling on the walls. The domed ceiling was filled with tiny lights that brightened as you approached and dimmed as you passed. The paintings looked as though they belonged in a museum. She was art illiterate but sensed that nothing on this ship was less than the best.
Whoever this Khoen character is, he’s obviously very wealthy, and not shy about it - fussy too.
Beth caught sight of her escort waiting patiently for her to stop gawping.
Anyone who expects their waiter, or guard, or whatever this man is, to wear such a uniform has significant unresolved issues.
Brain on, Irving. Khoen is either royalty or came from a dirt-poor background and is making up for it. And what the hell kind of name is Khoen anyway? Sounds Jewish. Is it his surname? Hadn’t sounded like it.
Beth started moving again, and the guard picked up the pace.
One thing’s for sure, a colossal ego is lurking hereabouts, and I think he’s my dinner date.
The guard stopped and she nearly smacked into the back of him. He opened wide white doors, and gestured for her to enter. A deep breath steadied her nerves before she walked in and stood stock-still. The ceiling was at least four meters high and in front of her was a wall of uninterrupted glass that offered her a panoramic view of a breath-taking ocean sunset.
She gaped and finally understood why she couldn’t feel the sea. The ship was a super-tanker. From one corner of the window she could see the full length of it stretching far away below her. The deck looked fairly normal, but having seen one corridor, she was certain it was a façade.
This ship is a palace in disguise. It’s probably more than a palace; it could house a small town.