Nssm 200 - The Milieu Derivative

  Matt felt sure his mind was playing tricks. He wanted to get up but couldn’t summon the energy. An arm stretched out and his hand circled the foot of the table leg for leverage. He pulled then pulled again. Nothing happened. The bright LED illuminated clock on the oven read ten. Was it morning or night? He had no way of knowing. Incapable of any further thought he closed his eyes.

  The oven clock read six fifteen. He could see daylight through the main window. Judging by the overcast conditions outside he assumed it was raining. Matt closed his eyes.

  Three thirty, according to the led lighting on the oven clock. Though the room was dark and silent he could just make out the sounds of passion from the mobile home next door. Christ, they were still hard at it. Oh to be a teenager again. He blinked several times before closing his eyes.

  A clap of thunder startled him to life. The accompanying bolt of lightning so bright and fierce he instinctively sat up and rested against the sofa. His head hurt, and he shut his eyes.

  The sudden impact of falling to the carpet jarred him from his slumber. The oven clock showed nine fifteen. God, his head hurt. He crawled towards the washroom, tugged back the half moon door and dragged the dead weight of his body into the shower. His hand only just reached the tap and he managed to twist it once. Cold water burst down upon his head. At least he thought it was cold, difficult to be sure amidst the range of uncertain thoughts occupying his weary mind. Matt closed his eyes.

  “Jesus!” he yelled, reaching up to turn off the tap. He could feel his limbs wanting to move and used them to discard the sodden clothes encasing his shivering frame. Climbing free of the soggy material he spotted the oven clock. Five minutes past eleven. He located the bath towel and wrapped it around his torso. The hair would just have to dry itself. A short trip to the bedroom and he was freshly clothed, armed with the thickest jumper he could lay his hands on. Almost half an hour passed before he started to feel body warmth returning. There was no time to lose. He fired up the laptop and inserted the attachment. An age seemed to pass by before the flashing light indicated the call was about to be answered and the screen began to take shape. The sleepy green eyes looked less than enthusiastic to hear from him.

  “Matt? Where on earth have you been these last few days? You were meant to code in nearly three days ago. We were beginning to fear the worst.”

  Three days! No wonder he was feeling peckish.

  “I’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Who is it?” he heard a voice say.

  Catherine half turned and waved her hand vigorously at the head sleepily rising from the pillow. The youthful face twisted to a frown and then realised what the Austrian woman had been trying to signify and her head sank back onto the bed out of view.

  “Have you found Rosa?” asked Catherine.

  “Yes and no.”

  “Not quite the answer I was hoping for.”

  “I tracked her close to the original location, but she moved on without telling me.”

  “Why did you not call it in immediately?”

  “I didn’t anticipate she would leave unexpectedly. It took me by surprise.”

  Catherine’s pensive face retreated into thought.

  “You’d better come back here tomorrow so we can agree what to do next.”

  “Why don’t we talk about it and agree now?”

  “Matt, it is after midnight and I need to rest. I will also need to find some way to explain how you have allowed Rosa to slip out of the net and evade you.”

  “Perhaps if Francine went to her own bed,” he quipped.

  “Francine is unwell so it is up to me to change Ilsa’s soiled nightdress,” she snapped, and the screen went blank.

  The sharpness in her tone had him thinking the couple had barely finished. Though somewhat surprised at the liaison, as there had to be a few years between them, another issue now occupied his mind. He couldn’t help but be intrigued by her use of the word net, as it suggested Catherine already knew of Rosa’s exact location before he’d been sent after her.

  This journey mirrored the last time he was being taken to visit Catherine. The blacked out windows of the saloon were soon to be followed by being deposited in the rear of a windowless van. It was almost as though they were trying to conceal the location of their rendezvous from him. This time he had come prepared, equipped with pen and paper to try and detail the hidden route. He set his watch precisely to the hour, counted the sequence and the numbers of left and right turns, and tried to estimate speed between each one. As soon as the vehicle stopped he ended the stopwatch timing.

  They were waiting inside.

  “How could you let her go free?” was Ameera’s opening salvo, before he’d sat down.

  “A coffee would be good.”

  Francine’s tall figure emerged from a dark corner of the room and poured out a mug. She offered an unnervingly warm smile as she placed it in front of him. The last time he was here her demeanour could best be described as indifferent.

  “Tell us what happened,” said Catherine.

  He recounted the turn of events, how instinct had led him to an isolated property in a small nearby cove before returning to his temporary residence. Matt told of the encounter with Rosa and a collection of others which had led to him being injected with the tranquilliser, disabling him from being able to pursue the mysterious group.

  “Well, I suppose you are not dead like the others,” said Ameera.

  “Others, what others?” he asked.

  “Rosa and Matt have history,” said Catherine, ignoring his question. “She likes and trusts him.”

  “Must be the only one,” said Ameera.

  Matt let the barb go unanswered, preoccupied instead by the strangely unfolding language. Something wasn’t right, didn’t add up.

  “You never mentioned anything about others before. And why wasn’t Rosa in the least surprised to see me?”

  “Even if she does trust him it doesn’t explain why they let him go free,” said a thoughtful Ameera, again ignoring his repeated question.

  Catherine, too, was engrossed in deep thought.

  “Rosa is open to negotiation,” she said. “You must resume the pursuit immediately.”

  “They will surely kill him next time,” said Ameera.

  “For once, I agree with Ameera. Rosa persuaded them to let me go once. There won’t be a second time.”

  “I believe you are wrong,” said Catherine, after further studious deliberation.

  “What makes you say that?” asked Ameera.

  “Contact has been made and Matt has survived. It is the first step in negotiation, leave a channel of communication open,” said Catherine.

  “If I get that close to them again it won’t be open for much longer. Trust me. I know when I’m being warned off for my own wellbeing.”

  “This is a good thing. The remainder of the group will now ask questions, want to know more about you, and Rosa will be forced into revealing your past. Once they understand your background and struggle against us I expect they will come to regard you as a potential ally, perhaps even some sort of a kindred spirit.”

  “Up to the point they recall I killed Tillman, a particular issue with one of them, then what?”

  “Death is their industry, their way of life. The matter will soon pass from their minds.”

  “Why is it I am not reassured by that assessment?”

  “You should be. It is all fitting together as we’d hoped.”

  “Catherine is right. The plan is working.” said Ameera.

  The ensuing silence, eerie and unsettling, alerted him into thinking something was amiss. There was far, far more to this than met the eye.

  “There are some issues we need to bring to your attention,” said Marius.

  “Here we go. Another set of complications revealed at the last minute. Jesus, do you people have a problem with being straight with everyone or is it just me?”

  Marius leaned forward and offered a leather pouch stuffed
with padding. Secreted within was a vial of clear liquid.

  “One dose of the antidote,” said Marius.

  “I thought it was gaseous?”

  “A refinement,” said Marius, handing over a container with accompanying syringe. “Into the vein,” he said, pointing to an arm. “If the serum is not within reach drink concentrated alcohol to slow its spread through the body. Also, the Milieu virus loses some of its potency when released five thousand feet above sea level.”

  “So if the absolute worst happens everyone should go live up in the mountains. At least Mother Nature would get her planet back from the plague of humanity so I suppose it’s not all bad news.”

  Marius’ irksome patient smile reappeared.

  “The first indicators of infection are red blotches on the inner arm, usually no more than three or four, for reasons we are not quite sure of.”

  “How long before they appear?”

  “Within a few hours of infection,” said Marius.

  “That would give me another day or so?”

  “Perhaps, but work on the assumption of little more than twelve hours before incapacitation.”

  “Doesn’t leave very much time for people to get to high ground,” he said.

  “No, so carry the antidote with you at all times.”

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “It is only one dose. You cannot share it.”

  “Can’t see that I’d want to,” he said.

  The unsettling silence returned, tension heightened by the exchange of furtive glances between the three sets of eyes sat before him. They were holding something back, the air filled tension proved it.

  “That just leaves me hoping your assessment is accurate,” he said to Catherine. “You did say the budget was limitless and I could use whatever resources I needed?”

  She nodded cautiously.

  “I’d better get right on to it then,” he said, standing up.

  They hadn’t anticipated his sudden burst of enthusiasm, if the widening of their eyes was anything to go by.

  “Where will you start?” asked Catherine.

  “I need to brush up on my sea fishing skills.”

  “Sea fishing?” said Ameera. “How does this relate?”

  “Trying to find these people will be like trying to find a single sardine in the ocean,” he said. “So I might as well get in a bit of practice.”

  He noticed Ameera’s horrified and questioning look pass on to Catherine.

  “Are you the taxi?” he asked of Francine.

  Her eyes darted in her superior’s direction.

  “The van is waiting outside,” said Catherine.

  He shrugged and nodded.

  “The trouble with strong, silent types,” he said, “is that in the absence of conversation it narrows the sort of things you can do together.”

  He didn’t have to stop and look to know Catherine was not in the least amused.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vega One