The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,134
deal, even her freedom.
But Adam was right. She had started his search for answers about his past, and since he had saved her life – more than once – in Russia, she owed him the chance to find them.
‘I . . . yes,’ she said. ‘But if anything happens . . .’
‘I’ll take all the blame,’ he said firmly. ‘But it won’t come to that. Like I said, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’
‘I’d better not get mud on my bum again,’ Bianca told him, her old spark resurfacing. ‘Okay, so what do I have to do?’
‘Go to the lab and bring the PERSONA gear.’
‘Including the recorder?’
‘No, I won’t need it.’
‘Good. The damn thing weighs a ton.’
He smiled. ‘Then meet me outside briefing room C in five minutes.’
‘Briefing room C, that’s, ah . . .’
‘Out of the back-left exit from the Bullpen, turn left, then right.’
‘Gotcha.’ She rose and went to the door – then hesitated, looking back. ‘Adam . . .’
‘Trust me,’ he said. She nodded and left the room. Adam followed her out, going to one of the unoccupied workstations. A surreptitious check to make sure none of the night-shift staff were paying him any particular attention, then he started to enter commands.
36
You Know My Name
Bianca went to the lab, feeling as though everyone she passed was regarding her with deep suspicion. She almost expected her ID card to be rejected when she put it into the lock, but the light turned green as normal.
Heart pounding, she entered and opened the cabinet to collect the equipment. It was the first time she had done so without Kiddrick watching hawkishly over her shoulder, and she still couldn’t escape the sense that there was someone right behind her.
But a glance round assured her that she was being paranoid. Relieved, she turned back to her task, collecting everything she needed. She picked up the cases and was about to nudge the cabinet closed with her knee when she paused, noticing something. One of the memory modules containing the recorded personas of the test subjects was labelled with a familiar name: CARPENTER, A. Tony was short for Anthony, obviously. She looked along the cases for a GRAY, A., but saw none.
No time to wonder about the omission. She shut the cabinet and hurried out, heading through the building to briefing room C.
Minutes passed as she waited outside it, feeling increasingly conspicuous and nervous. If anyone wandered by and wondered why she was hanging around with the PERSONA cases at her feet . . .
She heard someone approaching. Wishing that she had spent the time devising a semi-plausible excuse for being there, she turned – and to her relief saw Adam. ‘What kept you?’ she demanded in a half-whisper.
‘I had to get something from the equipment room. You’ve got everything?’ She gestured at the cases. ‘Okay, good. Come on.’
He picked up the large case and started down the corridor. Bianca collected the medical equipment and followed him to a security door bearing the sign HOLDING. Adam inserted his ID card. The light on the lock turned green, and he opened it.
Beyond was a short, windowless corridor with three heavy doors leading off it. A uniformed security guard sat at a desk beside the entrance. Monitors showed the interiors of the cells; one was occupied. He hurriedly put down his newspaper, evidently not expecting visitors this early in the day. ‘Mr Gray, sir. Morning. Uh . . . what can I help you with?’
‘We need to talk to Qasid,’ Adam told him, matter-of-factly. ‘Mr Carpenter’s authorised it.’
‘Okay, sir, let me just check …’ He tapped at the computer on the desk. ‘Ah, yeah, here we go. He’s in number one.’ He indicated the nearest of the three doors, then pushed a button on a control panel. A loud clack came from the door as the lock was released. ‘He’s all yours. Just wave at the camera when you want to come out.’
‘Thank you.’ Adam opened the cell and entered, Bianca behind him. The door swung shut.
Qasid lay on the bed. A metal toilet bowl and a tiny washbasin set into the wall were the only other furnishings. The terrorist had been asleep, the noise of the lock rousing him. He looked blearily at the new arrivals – then sat bolt upright, scrambling back as he recognised Adam. ‘Gray!’ he snarled. ‘You bastard, you traitor! You set us up!’