MINDFRACK Read online

  “What … why?” protested Logan.

  “Can’t give you that information.”

  “But George Grist admitted the playmate fell from his penthouse and –”

  “Stop right there. Recall. Grist cooperated fully. We did not enter his penthouse under an official warrant. And, in case you weren’t aware, his statement was not taken under oath or under any sort of Miranda. All indications are that the playmate jumped of its own accord. No one was seriously hurt. There’s no case of any sort to be made.”

  “What about Dexy Please? – she was beaten. Doesn’t that require investigation?”

  “She hasn’t filed any complaint or accusation of assault, to my knowledge,” said Dorsey.

  “But she’s not even been interviewed yet.”

  “She was given a standard statement form by Officer Beaumont. It came back blank but signed – witnessed by Beaumont. Therefore it’s official and it complies with regs.”

  “And that’s it? But Dexy Please said …” Logan faltered, remembering how Dexy had begged for him not to share their conversation.

  Dorsey’s eyes flickered. “What did she say, Mac?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that she had those injuries – some low-life did that to her.” He omitted names, but Dorsey filled in the gaps.

  The detective reached back and closed the door, “This must remain with us. Need I remind you we are legally bound by confidentiality?”

  Logan levelled his eyes at Dorsey. “No, I suppose you don’t.” He wanted to challenge, knowing he had no real basis upon which to do so. Instead, he set his jaw and kept silent.

  “Then we’re done.”

  “What should we do with the playmate?” asked Diaz, her eyes nervous and remaining on Logan.

  “I would hold on to it here for another forty-eight hours. Dexy Please can come in and fill in the necessary forms and take it away – provided nothing else comes up in the meantime. You’re to do no more work on it – am I clear?” He tilted his brow towards them, prompting further questions, which didn’t come. “In that case, gentlemen, I expect you to go through the usual procedure and close the forensics down – as from now.”

  Logan looked back to Carrie and, unaccountably, felt his chest tighten.

  “Mac – we okay?” said Dorsey, watching him closely.

  “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” He wasn’t. He felt awash with emotions that he failed to understand and felt sure that the room was physically shrinking around him. He walked past Dorsey and headed out into the corridor, his hand reaching into his pocket for a small dispenser.

  Behind him Diaz and Dorsey looked at each other, puzzled.

  10

  Emmett reached over his desk to a small wooden box ingrained with carvings of steer heads, and pulled out a slim. He held the cigar in front of him, rolling it in his fingers while considering the dangerous gambit he was about to play.

  Grist’s avatar appeared; he was waiting for his call. Emmett obliged.

  He struck a match against his boot sole, lit up and took three draws off the slim before angling it towards the ceiling to slow down the burn.

  There was a short delay due to the convoluted routing and the encrypted security protocols.

  The familiar view of the GNG boardroom opened before him, with Grist seated at the head of the glossy table in his high-backed leather “dragon” chair, which, to Emmett’s eyes, made him look frail rather than powerful.

  “George.”

  “Emmett. You have information for me? Has Dexy been taken care of?”

  Emmett placed his slim down on a polished tile of Texan meteorite while regarding Grist closely. “Yes, that’s taken care of. It’ll happen tonight.”

  “Why not sooner?”

  “You wanted it to appear natural. It has to happen then – we’re just talking hours away. In any case, she hasn’t filed any complaint against you. She signed off a blank statement. I’m guessing you had a hand in that, no idea how you did it or whether she thinks that she’s better off not taking you on. Don’t rightly care. And …” He paused while extracting a strand of cigar wrapper from his front teeth. “ I also happen to know that the Police Department has received instruction from high up not to proceed with any investigation. I’m guessing you called in a few favours from the Guild?”

  “Your guess is correct.”

  “Good, good ... But here’s the thing, there’s something else you need to be aware of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We have some complications.” Emmett picked up his cigar and drew on it, lengthily.

  Grist moved closer to his selfie-cam. “What complications? – explain.”

  “Despite your intervention with the investigation, a detective met up with Dexy Please straight after she got to the hospital, before I had chance to organize my own asset to intervene. The damage was already done. His name is Mark Logan and he works in NYPD forensics.”

  “But no statement has been filed – and the incident’s closed. Why should I worry?”

  “I’m not saying you should, George. I’m just reporting back to you what I’ve learned – as per your instructions.”

  “Tell me.”

  “For starters. She told him things.” Emmett was deliberately drawing out his rendition of events, treading cautiously.

  “Such as?”

  “She talked about the Guild, Intrum, the fact that you hit her. Jesus, George, it’s a mess.”

  “All right – but we have that in hand.”

  “There’s another problem.”

  Grist reeled a little. “Go on.”

  “It seems your sex doll is alive and talking like a grackle on a telegraph pole. Don’t ask me how it survived, but it did …” Emmett trailed off while studying Grist’s reaction.

  There was no hint of apoplexy. Instead, Grist leaned forward with a look of keen interest washing across his bland waxy features. “It’s functioning?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  Calculation moved through Grist’s eyes. “I want you to retrieve it and bring it to me.”

  Emmett needed to push Grist further. “I can do that, once it’s gone to storage and –”

  “No, I want it returned now.”

  “More difficult. I can get it destroyed, if that’s what you’re worried about. Have a very clever boy working for me that can probably destroy its computer-brain in situ.”

  Grist’s face reddened, highlighting lips that were pressed into a pale blue line. An arm inserted itself into the view and handed him a glass. After taking some sips, he turned back to Emmett and said, tightly, “I’ll make myself clearer, I want you to extract it from wherever it is right now and return it to me.”

  Emmett pulled back from his cam, letting his face become troubled. He asked, “What in tarnation you want with that robot? You need to tell me or I’m going to have problems acting on your wishes, George. You understand?”

  Grist’s face darkened while he considered his options. “It’s got information about Intrum. Simply put, it can help, or it can damage, the Guild. That’s all you need to know. Remember, you’re part of the Guild and if the Guild suffers, so do you …”

  Emmett’s gut told him Grist was lying, maybe not about what the robot knew about Intrum, but the real reason why he wanted it in his own hands. To be sure beyond doubt he dared to push Grist some more. “God damn, George. You just asking the impossible. You realise, don’t you, the playmate is sitting in a laboratory in a highly securitized facility deep within the police’s Forensic Department?”

  “No, I didn’t know that – but I know what you are capable of. I’ll make it easier. I’ll hand over a six-month supply of Jennifer’s medicine, on receipt of the playmate.”

  Emmett’s heart missed a beat. Now he knew: everything Dexy had told the detective was true. She was Grist’s daughter, there was a twin brother, and the robot might be able to lead Emmett to him. If he could find Grist’s son first, then the possibilities were incalculable; mayb
e even give him enough leverage to make Grist give him Jennifer’s cure. And afterward see to his death, personally. Grist had held sway over him for too long. It’d been nearly four years since the nightmare had begun.

  Grist had done his homework well.

  Emmett had accepted retirement from the CIA while taking on an executive position and continuing to supply his expertise on a consultancy basis. Necessarily, he retained access to his operatives and the highest levels of clearance. Now he wondered whether Grist had had a hand in engineering his enviable semi-active retirement. The thought that he may have been groomed for the Guild sickened him, yet the facts tied up too neatly.

  It was around that time that Jennifer had been attending regular anti-aging treatments at the GNG’s medical institute. Grist had used the opportunity to infect her with her own genetically modified RNA: effectively, gene therapy in reverse. The bastard had told him all the scientific details with relish and was actually proud of his “little ploy”. He’d brought Emmett to his knees.

  He went on to describe how the crafted genetic disease would relentlessly strip away external nervous control before working inwards to Jennifer’s central nervous system and ultimately a painful death.

  It only took days for the symptoms to begin to appear. Emmett immediately took her to see specialists. They were confounded by the disease, stating that it must be congenital and have lain dormant until now. They also told him that Jennifer’s type of myotonic disease was unique and very difficult to cure, if at all.

  Then came the contract.

  Serve the Guild and GNG Pharma would provide the palliative treatment, keeping the disease in a form of stasis. If Emmett sought help from any other pharma or medical establishment then their contract would be dissolved immediately, leaving Jennifer exposed to the ravages of the disease; it was designed to advance quickly on withdrawal of GNG’s meds. Yes, they might find a cure, eventually. By that time, though she would likely be paralysed, perhaps blind, and totally dependent.

  Finally, Grist had told Emmett that when he was finished with him, perhaps in five years or maybe ten, he would provide him with a lucrative financial bonus and Jennifer with the antidote. Make their final years together sweet …

  “Did you hear what I said?” said Grist.

  Emmett steadied himself, knowing that he must play this out properly. “Now don’t go getting me wrong, that’s a generous offer, George. But I’ll still need to think about this carefully as it might be impossible to do what you want without making one unholy mess along the way. I’m thinking omelette – you get my drift?” His reply was theatre; he would find a way.

  Grist didn’t falter; instead his mouth turned up at one corner and he motioned with his hand like a king of old imparting his blessing. “I don’t care how you do it, just get the playmate and return it to me.”

  11

  When Logan returned to his apartment, late that evening, he was totally spent. Luna, his virtual PA, stood in the middle of the room, courtesy of iSense, and looked him over, her expression one of concern. “Are you all right, Mark? You look unhappy.”

  “Yeah, I’m good, Luna, just exhausted.”

  “Aren’t you going to the Harlem Fresco Beach Bar to meet with your friends?”

  “Damn.”

  “I did remind you earlier.”

  “You did? What the hell’s the matter with me?” It was to be a wild night at the HFB, which had the largest free-standing 3V immersion experience in New York. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d forget – and yet he had.

  “Do you need a physician?”

  “No, I don’t think so, Luna. Just do me a favour, tell them I can’t make it – tell them I’ve got work to finish. Maybe we can link up next week instead. Apologies, etc.”

  “Done. Can I do something else to help? Would you like me to perform, take your mind off things?”

  “Not tonight, Luna – porn’s not going to cut it. Just sound supress, and some soft rock.”

  The noise of the condo’s cranky central heating and the distant sirens, already muffled by double-glazing, were replaced by a thick silence. A Carly Simon rock melody started up.

  Still jumpy at the day’s odd occurrences, Logan double-checked his front door and the alarm system.

  “Is there anything else I can do? Can I order you a pizza – your favourite?”

  “No thanks. You can go now.”

  Luna hesitated.

  “Is there something you need to tell me Luna?”

  No response.

  “Luna? What’s going on?”

  The virtual image wavered like a heat mirage.

  “What the fuck …?”

  Before his eyes, or rather within them, Luna’s body and head began to inflate. She grew to blimp proportions and he couldn’t help but shrink away from the deformed copy of his PA, while anticipating the inevitable outcome. He flinched as it burst, sending pieces of virtual skin flying across the room. A deflated breast landed on his arm and he tried to brush it off, feeling foolish at his reaction. He looked up to find an obese male youth grinning widely at him. A hand came up and made a finger gun. The thumb dropped and the youth laughed raucously, before morphing back into Luna’s form. She was looking quizzically at him.

  Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. New iSense releases sometimes had crashes or contained software bugs, but nothing approaching this sort of intrusion. And any hacking of an iCBC chip was considered impossible, and would cause an instant shut down of iSense, preventing it from reaching any sensory input.

  “Are you all right, Mark? I’m registering a state of high agitation, and your heart is beating very fast. Shall I call a physician?”

  “What …? No. No, I’m fine. Please go now.” He wanted the PA’s image out of his head.

  He stood in the middle of the room, rooted to the spot, trying to figure what just happened.

  Since his run-in with Shala and her friends at the station, he’d invoked his MyLife app. Using the app’s inbuilt editing features, he re-ran the period since he entered his apartment until the present moment, at maximum detail, so it would recall every external and every head-up augmented image as seen through his eyes.

  To his dismay, only Luna’s image filled the timespan.

  He walked over to the kitchen area, toed the fridge open and reached for a beer.

  There were stories about side-effects from nanos but he hadn’t taken them seriously. While he gulped down the beer he did some research.

  He found the evidence. Yes, there were cases where people had hallucinated after overdosing, even on recreationals like his, especially when combined with sleep deprivation. The disturbing visions were called hypnanogogic waking dreams. He’d been up for more than thirty-six hours on the trot, some of that time spent at a party overindulging in alcohol and nanos, and he’d taken much more than the recommended dosage of purples to counter that. What the hell did he expect?

  He regarded his beer can with doubt but decided the comfort value outweighed the risks. He’d also learnt that the effects were nearly always temporary and quickly wore off.

  A languid shower and a couple more beers later, he turned in. It was long after midnight by now and the mattress felt like the open wings of an angel.

  12

  Pic’s face was streaming from laughter.

  The look on the detective’s face.

  This was the most fun he’d had in …

  He looked down to his right leg. Despite that friggin’ ankle bracelet.

  Sighing, he checked the time again; his fun with Logan was just a filler.

  Yes, just ten minutes to two a.m.

  He turned his attention back to the view of the hospital room. Dexy Please was sleeping quietly. Not for long …

  He giggled in anticipation.

  The beetle-drone was inspired. He had to hand it to the Texan Turkey. He pinged the wake-up signal.

  It came to life in the corner of the room – the payload “Dr Banner” h
ad delivered.

  Earlier, he’d hacked into the hospital’s cloud. Child’s play for one of the most notorious back-hats of all time. He who had once hacked into multiple nuclear power stations and initiated their simultaneous shutdown just for fun. Almost brought the country to its knees. Would have done, had it not been for Emmett finding him.

  He turned off the patient emergency button.

  He’d already disabled the whore’s iSense the previous day.

  Pic alternated his view between the room cam and the on-board microcam of the beetle-drone.

  He enjoyed poking and prodding the miniature bot. It was mostly self-sufficient and had a modicum of intelligence. It could probably have done the whole job itself if it had details down to the minutiae. For this job, though, it was better that he oversaw it. No mistakes, boy, Emmett had told him. Fuck the dried-up old turkey-cowboy. Turkey … He made gobble-gobble sounds.

  The beetle-drone scuttled across the floor to the bed.

  He sniggered as it made its way under the bedclothes. He could have been real bad and sent it on up the bed to her naughty area. But he followed instructions to the letter.

  He let it search for a nearby vein, behind a knee, to inject the toxin.

  Switched his view back to the room cam.

  Giggled as the woman jumped. She pulled the bedclothes back, not quite believing that something had bit her. The beetle plopped back onto the floor and caught her attention. She watched it for a moment, then checked the back of her leg. The toxin was already having an effect as she was rubbing her leg, surprise turning to confusion and then horror. She looked back to the beetle as it reached the side of the door, where it turned and settled.

  She tried to get out of bed. Bad move, as she was wasting precious moments. Realising that her legs were already useless, she reached back and pressed the emergency button. Of course, that wasn’t going to help her. She couldn’t call out either as her larynx was already paralysed, being a prioritised target of the intelligent nerve agent.