Reuben’s voice shattered the silence. ‘The killing process took three minutes,’ he said matter-of-fact, switching off the film and switching on the lights. Same length of time I’d allowed myself to steal in and out of Wilding’s home, I registered.
‘What about the white guy?’
‘He was taken out and shot. Experiment over.’
‘So he was immune?’
Reuben nodded, held my gaze in a vice-like grip. ‘In simple engineering terms, it’s a tremendous feat to divide one human genome from another, but…’
‘Excuse me,’ I said, stumbling past Reuben and upstairs.
‘The cloakroom is on the right by the front door,’ he called after me.
I found it and threw up in the sink. Adrenalin dump, I convinced myself, totally unconnected, to what I’d just watched. Splashing water over my face, I gaped at my reflection in the mirror. Apart from my obvious pallor, I thought I’d be unrecognisable. I thought the man I believed myself to be was hiding but he wasn’t.
‘You are shocked,’ Reuben said as I emerged and rejoined him in the kitchen.
‘We’re talking about biological genocide,’ I snapped. ‘I take it the clip is genuine?’
‘It has been authenticated although we are not entirely certain where this took place. The footage emerged over a decade ago.’
‘Bearing in mind you didn’t show me this shit as a form of entertainment, what’s the exact connection to Wilding?’
‘I am simply making you aware of possibilities,’ Reuben said, pulling his punches, ‘I’m giving you the context within which I believe she worked.’
‘Why?’
An unnerving gleam entered his eye. ‘To save your soul.’
Too late for that. Redemption was beyond me: I’d committed too many acts of violence. I shook my head.
‘You are indifferent to death?’ he said, his turn to be shocked.
‘I’m indifferent to life.’
Reuben frowned. I think he found my response glib and irritating. ‘Joshua,’ he said, with a stern and penetrating expression. ‘What about the lives of others?’
I took a deep breath. I’d spent my entire professional life singularly unconcerned by the lives of others. I didn’t do noble and I didn’t do self-sacrifice. And yet…
Reuben was still talking. ‘I do not know how far such weapons have progressed because I no longer have the kind of connections I once had, but it’s a safe bet that you are mixed up in something of apocalyptic proportions.’
In spite of the outward show, the content of the video-clip and the spectre of mass murder taunted me. I thought about Wes, about the so-called data on the hard drive. Assuming Wilding had been engaged in defending the nation, someone had stolen it with the intention of neutralising our defence capability. It might also have been stolen to trade with individuals intent on carrying out an atrocity. Like it or not, I had to face the possibility that certain unscrupulous people, individuals I dealt with on a daily basis, wanted this type of material to sell on. I didn’t give a damn about my own survival but, as Reuben had already pointed out, the lives of others were now at stake. Locating the hard drive suddenly assumed increased urgency. What I was going to do with the material when I got my hands on it I hadn’t a clue.
Hiding me in the rear footwell of his Volvo Estate, Reuben drove me into town, dropped me off and I returned as quickly as I dared to my lock-up near King’s Cross. My only official claim to property it housed the tools of my trade and, aside from weapons, included bikes, wigs, uniforms, props like walking sticks, and hair dyes; anything that could aid a metamorphosis in my appearance. There, I had a quick shave, changed into a smart cashmere coat over tailored trousers and brogues, and popped contact lenses into my eyes, transforming them from blue to brown. It was a detail. It would only count if someone got up close and personal but as detail had tripped me up I wasn’t keen to repeat the error. To complete the disguise, I chose a pair of glasses with plain lenses in black rectangular frames. I took a briefcase containing a pair of high-spec binoculars and a Cannon PowerShot digital camera, a false passport and false credit cards linked to the passport. It’s commonly assumed that these are difficult to acquire. They are, but fifteen or so years ago, when I was starting out, and the Identity and Passport Service was lax, they were a doddle.
Confident that I could not be recognised, I felt more at ease and made my way to the hotel to hook up with Wes. Despite his outward show, I’d always had the impression that he was a nearly man; nearly made it into the higher echelons of organised crime; nearly made it into accountancy. Never had enough bottle for the former and lacked application for the latter. Now I had my doubts. Now I believed he was more involved in the Wilding job than I’d given him credit. Why else would Wes lie about the boy and the reason for the scientist’s murder?
Stepping into the large foyer with its L-shaped reception area, I veered to the right into a wide corridor with booths down one side, lifts on the other. It was cathedral quiet. At that time the place was virtually empty. Wes was sitting three slots down. His eyes flickered with lust as a handsome-looking forty-something woman wearing a power suit and heels clicked by. He never could resist the call of the wild. As I approached he glanced up, no recognition in his eyes. I strode past as though making for the grand staircase. Like a guy who has forgotten something, I checked my pace, turned, strode back and slipped into a seat opposite. Wes blinked wide, sharply retreated into the leather, his olive skin two shades lighter. I met his startled gaze with a level expression.
‘Fuck, and holy fuck.’ His body braced. His dark eyebrows assumed two angry points in his forehead. For a moment I thought he was going to lean forward and punch me hard in the face. Fortunately his survival instinct kicked in.
‘Hello, Wes.’
Wes jerked towards me. ‘Have you seen the news? It’s on every television channel, every radio station. And the boy was there. He saw you, man. Your identikit picture is gonna be in every mother-fucking newspaper. You fucked up, Hex. You screwed me over.’
I glanced away, let out a long slow breath, a technique to control my urgent desire to smash his jaw into five pieces. ‘I screwed you over?’ My voice sounded ugly.
Wes looked me straight in the eye and leant in close. Fat beads of sweat dotted his brow. I realised then that he feared his employer more than he feared me. ‘The British security service is all over this one,’ he hissed.
‘And the Russians and Israelis. Now why would that be?’
‘Russians?’ He had the desperate look of a man crashing through a rain forest trying to evade a Cassowary.
‘You didn’t know what Wilding was up to her pretty white neck in?’ I said, a do me a favour expression on my face. ‘And you’ve got the fucking cheek to get me here to deliver a lecture.’
His shoulders dropped and he glanced away. ‘The employer is getting mighty jumpy.’
‘Then he needs to get a grip.’
Wes ran his fingers through his dark hair, his expression flashed from anger to anxiety to beseeching. ‘You have to find the material.’
‘I don’t have to do anything.’
He held my gaze for a moment then looked down. ‘You have three days,’ he mumbled.
Wes wasn’t making a lot of sense to me. What he said, his body language, everything about him was off. ‘Three days until what?’
He hiked