Jim frowned. ‘So?’ he said.
‘So our job is to flick a switch,’ Glen said with a little shrug. ‘From one to the other. Simple as that.’
‘Just flick a switch?’ Jim asked.
Glen nodded. ‘Exactly. It just happens to be a switch that is guarded night and day, behind several electronically locked doors in the bowels of the building,’ he said lightly.
Jim contemplated this. ‘Right,’ he said eventually. ‘So we sneak in, past the security, through the locked doors, and we flick a switch. And that’s it?’
‘Not quite,’ Glen said.
‘Not quite?’ Jim stared at him uncertainly. ‘What else do we have to do?’
‘We have to flick it back again when we’re asked to. Then we have to wait for a signal, and then we have to do a bit of … deconstruction work.’
‘We have to stay there?’ Jim felt his blood run cold. ‘How? Everyone in the building will be after our blood.’
‘Only if they know we’re there,’ Glen said, wrapping his arms around himself.
Jim did likewise, trying to digest what Glen had just said; he had more questions, so many more questions, but already Glen was staring into the middle distance, messaging someone. Who? Jim wondered. This Raffy guy? Christopher perhaps? Someone else entirely? Jim had always known that Glen had secrets, had contacts; he had survived, after all, in the middle of Paris with Infotec Informers all around. He had helped countless Infotec targets to leave the country with new identities; had established a worldwide network of unbelievers, of rebels, of dissenters. But until now he had always been a shadowy figure; until now he had rarely been seen by anyone, his power all in information. And it was a suitable weapon, Jim figured, seeing that he was up against Infotec, whose entire power base was forged from the same thing. To see him now, though, crouched down in the snow, planning such an audacious act … Jim found himself staring at Glen partly in awe. But he was also staring at him in fear. Because what Glen wanted them to do, what he was planning … It was suicide, plain and simple. And he didn’t even look worried about it.
Jim, on the other hand, was worried. Very worried. Scared, even. Terrified. His heart was pumping, his palms were hot and his thoughts were full of excuses, reasons he had to leave, explanations he could offer up to Glen for why he’d love to stay but actually couldn’t because of a previous engagement that had completely slipped his mind. He was a blogger. He was a cynic. He didn’t like to be told what to do; he didn’t like Infotec’s bully-boy tactics and he didn’t believe everything they told him, particularly since their version of history made them the ultimate good guys. He enjoyed existing slightly outside the centre, looking in, finding fault; if he was honest, he enjoyed the thought of being on Infotec’s watch list because it made him feel important, made him feel like there was a point to him.
But he wasn’t a hero. He wasn’t a soldier, or a terrorist, or anything like that. He didn’t want to die. Didn’t want to be tortured, to feel pain. He really, really didn’t.
He looked around nervously. He was sweating in spite of the cold; could feel beads of the stuff dripping down his chest. He wasn’t cut out for this. He was going to get dehydrated. Dehydrated, then tortured, then killed. He’d been stupid for coming. He should have just done what Glen asked him to. He should have walked away. He should have …
‘Ready?’ Glen asked.
Jim looked up at him, finding it hard to focus.
Glen took a step towards him. ‘Everything okay? You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. You can wait here. If I don’t make it back I’ll ask Christopher to come for you tomorrow. What do you say?’
Jim pulled himself up. His mind was whirring, incoherent, his body was hot yet frozen, his limbs barely able to move. And he could stay here. He should stay here. He was no use to anyone. Not really.
‘Jim?’ Glen asked. ‘Look, I have to go. But thank you. For coming. For helping. And I’ll see you afterwards, okay?’
He started to trudge off; Jim watched him a few seconds, then stood up. Afterwards? Sod that. ‘Wait,’ he shouted, forcing his legs to walk. None of his blogs had changed the world; none of them had changed anything. Nothing he’d ever done had ever meant anything significant to anyone; he didn’t even have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. He wasn’t even sure which one he wanted.
But now, now it probably didn’t matter. Because what he was about to do … well, it might change things. It might change them a lot. And if it didn’t, if he was shot or electrocuted before managing to do a single thing, then he wouldn’t be around to have any regrets, so what did it matter?
Glen had turned around, was looking at him quizzically.
‘I’m coming,’ Jim called out, trying to ignore the nausea washing over him, trying to forget that he really wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. ‘Wouldn’t miss it. Lead the way, Glen. Lead the way.’
30
‘Your cortisol levels are high. Would you like me to play some soothing music?’
Raffy nodded distractedly; his cortisol levels were high because he was more strung out than a tightrope; he could barely sit still, couldn’t stop his mind from turning a thousand images over and over in his head, of Evie, of Lucas, of Benjamin killing himself, of Martha, Angel, of the System he and Linus had painstakingly destroyed. A lifetime ago. In a different world.
He’d been so naïve.
He’d been so stupid.
And then, suddenly, it was there, in front of him, the message he’d been waiting fifteen hours for, the message he’d half thought he’d never receive. ‘The System is ready.’
Raffy stared at the coded message in front of him for a few seconds before feeling able to reply. ‘Ready?’ he typed back. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Finished,’ came back straight away. ‘You can check it, but I know it works. Tell Thomas he’s got what he wanted.’
Raffy nodded and, his body pumping with adrenaline, he typed a message to Thomas, copying in Milo, telling them the news. It was starting. It was happening. And if it worked … If it didn’t …
Thomas replied seconds later. ‘I’m on my way. If this is some kind of game, you will regret it.’
‘No games. You want it, you’ve got it,’ Raffy replied.
‘Thanks, Cassandra,’ he said, turning off the music, his mind trying to process what was happening. ‘Maybe later, okay?’
‘Your cortisol levels …’ Cassandra started to protest, but Raffy was already furiously sending a message to Glen, all the time looking through his glass door at Thomas, who was striding towards him.
Thomas opened the door and looked at him expectantly. ‘So?’ he said. ‘Shall we?’
‘Sure,’ Raffy said, his message sent, his legs almost buckling under him when he stood up. ‘Why don’t you lead the way?’
Lucas watched the throngs of people carrying food, putting up tents, their faces full of purpose, a hum of intense activity everywhere, and he felt something radiate through him that was almost close to happiness. Fifty metres away he could see Martha organising teams of people who were supplying soup to the hundreds of refugees now camped within the City walls, throngs of people adding a new vibrancy and energy to the City, which had stagnated for so long. Now there was no stagnation; now there was a sense of urgency, of fear, but also of determination. The City had suffered, just as the new communities within it had suffered, and now they were ready to fight.
What the fight would entail, Lucas didn’t know; how they could fight an enemy as powerful as Thomas, he had no idea. But he knew that they had to try. The UK was Thomas’s dirty little secret, and he would want it to stay that way. Once he had his precious System up and running he would murder everyone. If he could.
Lucas shivered as he remembered listening to Thomas talk, heard his disregard for human life, for suffering, his total inability to understand what he had done. He saw only what he wanted; the lives he destroyed along the way were meaningless to him. And now he had Evie. Evie, Linus, Be
njamin, Raffy …
Lucas shook himself. Martha was right; he had to focus on what he still had, what he could still save.
It had been so much easier than he’d thought to convince the City’s people to open the gates wide, to send messengers to communities up and down the country and invite them in. Together they were going to send a message to the rest of the world. Together they were going to make sure that the truth was known.
A man walked towards him; Lucas lifted his hand in greeting. ‘Stern. How are things?’
Stern grimaced; he and the entire Settlement community had arrived that morning, frightened, hungry, exhausted, having walked for days. ‘We shouldn’t be out in the open,’ he said. ‘If the bombs come … we need shelter. What he did to the Settlement, he will do here.’
Lucas nodded slowly; he understood Stern’s fear. And yet Linus’s message had been very clear. ‘I know why you are afraid,’ he said. ‘But the message I have received … We are not to hide. Linus is with Benjamin; with Thomas. He knows what Thomas intends to do. And his message was unequivocal. We are to stay together. Above ground. Someone is coming. A friend.’
‘A friend who will show the rest of the world that we are here; yes, I know that’s what Linus said,’ Stern cut in, his deep, laborious voice rather more impatient than Lucas had heard it before. ‘But what if he is wrong? What if the friend doesn’t get here? What if the bombs arrive first? You asked us to come here and we did. But we are not safer here as you promised. I can see only that we are sitting ducks. My people trust me and I have to put their safety first.’
‘Your people will be safe,’ Lucas said.
‘So you keep saying,’ Stern said insistently. ‘And yet you give me no evidence. Lucas, you are a good man, I can see that. Benjamin trusted you and your friends, and so I must trust you, too. But you asked me to bring the Settlement people down here and with Benjamin missing it is beholden on me to ensure their safety. Simply being told that they will be safe is, I am afraid, not sufficient.’
Lucas looked at him carefully, took in the wizened face, the dark, lugubrious eyes. ‘Everyone is being given blankets and an emergency bag of provisions,’ he said.
‘Yes.’ Stern nodded. ‘Yes, I know. But that won’t help us when the bombs come, when everything is destroyed.’
‘No,’ said Lucas. ‘They won’t help on their own. But the reason people are being asked to carry these things with them at all times is because we have a back-up plan. A plan that we are keeping utterly secret because we do not want to induce panic or suggest that we fear a bomb attack. Fear can spread quickly, Stern, as you well know.’
‘And what is your back-up plan?’ Stern asked gruffly.
‘You lived in London,’ Lucas said. ‘Before the Horrors?’
Stern’s eyes narrowed. ‘I was in prison in London. With Benjamin.’
Lucas nodded. ‘Right. But you lived in London before that?’
Stern grunted. ‘I lived in London. I grew up there.’
‘Right,’ Lucas said, relieved that he’d got his facts right. ‘Well there is here. We’re in London now. What used to be London.’ It felt strange talking of a place he’d never known, a place his father used to tell him about secretively, a place that everyone knew had been full of evil and yet which his father talked of wistfully sometimes, as though he missed it. It was only later that Lucas understood; only much later that he realised that the only real evil lay within Thomas’s heart. ‘You remember the London Underground?’
Stern froze for a few seconds, then he started to nod. ‘The tube,’ he said.
Lucas smiled, remembering his father using the same word when he had told Lucas about the series of passages underneath the City, passages that trains used to run up and down, taking people wherever they needed to go.
‘Well it’s underneath us,’ Lucas said, lowering his voice as though someone might hear, lowering his voice because in his mind, retreating to the tube would mean defeat, would mean losing. Even revealing the back-up plan to Stern felt like failure. ‘A secret team has opened up three of the stations along one line which runs the length of the City itself. That is where we go if Linus is wrong. That is where we will be safe if the bombs come. We have provisions down there, enough for everyone for a week. We have marshals who will ensure safe transit down into the tunnels. And enough space for everyone. That is our back-up plan, Stern. That is why I know that I can keep everyone safe.’
Stern considered this, then he nodded slowly. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then I’d better get back to work.’
He walked off; Linus watched him in admiration – he was an old man now but he still carried himself tall, accepted no help from anyone, in spite of Martha’s best efforts. Whilst others from the Settlement queued up for bandages, Stern had spent every minute since he arrived getting food for his people, making sure everyone had what they needed.
‘Stern,’ Lucas shouted after him. Stern turned, slowly.
‘Get yourself some food. I need you to be strong today. Make sure you rest. Your people are going to need you.’
Stern opened his mouth to protest, then turned, lifted a hand in a little wave. And then he was gone, leaving Lucas on his own again, wondering what was coming, wondering what the day would bring.
31
Thomas pulled a face, then stepped back. ‘Shall we?’
The two men who had been behind him since Thomas had walked into Raffy’s cubicle now took Raffy by the arms and handcuffed him; they then followed Thomas out of the room. There was no hood over his head this time; he saw a long corridor with plush carpet, saw a lift, saw Thomas press the button to go down, saw him press the number ‘10’ once inside.
‘It’s the maintenance floor,’ Thomas said, noticing Raffy’s eyes. ‘Not as comfortable as yours. But I guess you know that. You remember.’
Raffy nodded as he was pulled out of the lift onto a concrete floor; there was the sound of machinery, a chill that he hadn’t felt further up the building. They were on the floor he had been brought to before, the floor where he and Linus had been tied up together.
Thomas stopped in front of a large metal door, then stepped aside; the man holding Raffy’s left arm dropped it and stepped forward, taking out a key. The door swung open slowly; Raffy was shoved roughly through the doorway. ‘Thank you gentlemen,’ Thomas said then; the men stepped backwards and the door closed in front of them.
The room appeared empty; high grey walls stretched upwards and metal shelves sat against the walls, carrying computers, books, machinery, papers and files. Thomas walked around the corner; Raffy followed him. And there, sitting in the corner, was Linus, his usual impenetrable smile on his face.
‘Thomas,’ he said.
‘Linus.’ There was no warmth in either voice. ‘So you’ve finished?’ Thomas walked towards him. ‘I thought that perhaps changing your scenery might encourage more of a work ethic. I’m so pleased I was right.’
‘You have never been right about anything, Thomas,’ Linus replied benignly.
Thomas stood over Linus; Raffy noticed how much he obviously enjoyed the dominance. ‘Show me,’ he said, curtly. ‘Show me now.’
Linus shrugged lightly and began to show Thomas and Raffy what he’d built. And Raffy, who at one point had truly believed he could build the System himself if necessary, found himself staring in awe at what Linus had created, the subtlety, the sophistication, the beauty of a System that truly appeared to breathe, to understand, to feel. It was different from the System he’d built in the City; closer to how Linus had described his original ideas to Raffy – ideas for a System that could pre-empt people’s needs, that could monitor happiness levels, look for unrest, for dissatisfaction, for despondency, depression or unhappiness, so that those affected could be helped, so that their lives could be improved, so that they did not lash out and take their anger out on others. Or, Raffy thought heavily, in Thomas’s world, they would be tracked down and eliminated, as would anyone found to be questioning his a
uthority, planning any kind of protest or simply breaking any one of his rules.
‘It’s really here,’ Thomas breathed, as Linus walked them through it. ‘It’s extraordinary, so complex and yet so simple.’ Then, suddenly, his eyes narrowed. ‘But why? Why, Linus. It wasn’t this room. It wasn’t any of my threats. You’d have died before building this System for me. So why did you do it?’
Linus took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. ‘I’m tired of the bloodshed, Thomas. I’m tired of people dying, tired of all the pain. It made me wonder what I’m fighting, if my fight is causing so much pain. I’m an old man, Thomas. I don’t have any fight left.’
Thomas shook his head. ‘No fight? Linus, you’ll always have fight in you. Don’t you realise that’s what’s kept you going all these years? You think you hate me for everything I’ve done, but really you should be grateful. I provided you with the perfect environment.’
‘To build my System? Yes, you did that,’ Linus said quietly.
‘No,’ Thomas shook his head again. ‘No, I don’t mean that. I did that for me, not you. I mean the City, your rebellion. It’s what you thrive on, Linus. You’ve always been a loner, but until I started the Horrors, you didn’t have a cause. Think about when you’ve been happiest. Was it before the Horrors, when you were walking in and out of jobs all the time? Was it in the City, when you were building your System? Or was it in that camp of yours, starting the rebellion, planning the fight back against the evil Brother, the corrupt System? That’s when you came alive, Linus, admit it.’
Linus frowned. ‘And I should be grateful to you for that? For starting a war, for creating a City that was corrupt from the beginning, that lied to its people and made them afraid?’
Thomas smiled. ‘So indignant, Linus. So aggrieved. Yes, you should be grateful to me. Don’t you know your Durkheim? He said that people are happiest when they are at war, when they have a common enemy. It gives their lives meaning. It brings people together. Without me you’d have been a drifter. You’d never have lived up to your potential. And you’d certainly never have had any friends.’