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  “The birds?” Emma asked before Jacob could stop her.

  This was one of Bri’s pet theories.

  As they entered the airport and checked in, Brian had barely taken a breath expounding on his theory about DARPA manipulating the planet’s magnetic field—for some unknown purpose—and birds’ navigation being adversely affected, thus sending them into the path of planes’ engines.

  “That’s a bit much, even for you,” Emma said as she took her ticket from the check-in desk and led them toward security.

  Inside the lounge, Jacob scanned the immediate vicinity, convinced Gray had had him followed.

  Everyone looked like a potential spy.

  Over in a small bar, sitting on a stool and reading a newspaper, a gaunt man in a business suit seemed to scan the lounge periodically, taking in the various people, watching them far too intently for just a casual observation.

  Then there was that woman sitting a few rows ahead.

  She kept checking the departure times on the board, but as she looked up, she glanced behind her. At one point she even smiled at Jacob when they locked eyes.

  Jacob’s leg bounced up and down frantically with the tension of it all.

  Emma placed a hand on his thigh. “You okay there, bud? Not a fan of flying either, huh?”

  “Nah, I’m okay, flying isn’t the issue. I’m just wondering…” He didn’t finish his sentence, didn’t want to unduly stress her or Brian with his paranoia. For all he knew there could be a hundred of Gray’s people here and he wouldn’t be able to tell.

  Could they track the biochip thing? he wondered. He’d stored it in a Tupperware box and put it with his checked suitcase, not wanting to put it through the scrutiny of the TSA scanners. He wondered if it was somehow toxic or radioactive. He now imagined warning sirens going off.

  A pair of armed security officers made their way through the lounge, chatting casually to each other, but eyeing everyone with suspicion.

  Jacob looked away, knowing he had guilt plastered all over his face.

  “What were you wondering?” Emma asked.

  “Eh? Oh, I was wondering where the restroom was.”

  “It’s over—”

  Jacob shot up from his seat and walked through the departure lounge, past the man at the bar and toward the restroom. Before he got there, he stopped and bent to do up his shoelace. He used that as an opportunity to look behind him.

  The guy from the bar was no longer sitting there.

  Jacob knew he was being watched.

  He casually stood and scanned the lounge, trying to find the guy, but he must have filtered into the crowd or found a discreet angle from which to spy on Jacob. He’d left his paper on the bar.

  Indecision kept Jacob from moving on. He wasn’t sure what to do now. If he were being followed, then it was only a matter of time before the gaunt man acted. Gray certainly wouldn’t want Jacob leaving the state.

  His plane was outside the lounge. A number of high-visibility jacketed mechanics buzzed around it. It wouldn’t be long now before boarding. If the gaunt man was going to do something, it’d be real soon.

  Jacob moved to the restroom, his whole body tensed as though he were an antenna trying to divine the gaunt man’s intentions through the ether. Jacob stopped at the door. There was a mirrored panel inset to the right. He waited a few seconds, trying to discern if anyone looking suspicious was behind him, but all he could see was a moving, bustling throng of travelers.

  The door opened. Jacob nearly stumbled inside, knocking into a man who was coming out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Jacob said, looking up.

  “That’s quite okay,” the man said.

  It was the gaunt man. He spoke with a crisp, British accent and gave Jacob a curious smile, holding his gaze until it became awkward before sliding out of the door, leaving Jacob’s way clear.

  He hesitated, wondering if he would be followed in and then what? Jacob imagined being bundled into a cubicle and bludgeoned to death. If this man were like Miss Clipboard, he’d probably be as strong as her, maybe even stronger.

  There was no way Jacob would be able to fight back in a confined space.

  “Is there something wrong?” the man asked when Jacob didn’t move.

  “Um? No… no… sorry.”

  The man gave him a curt, polite nod and walked back to the bar.

  Inside the restroom there was an open cubicle. Jacob entered and sat on the toilet after covering it with paper. He felt like he was in a spy film. Usually there were a few outcomes:

  One—he could climb out of a small window and make his escape. That was no good; he couldn’t leave Emma and Brian on their own like that. Two—he could leave the bathroom and confront the gaunt man, calling his bluff, forcing his hand. Three—cause a diversion and use that to board the plane. Once on board, there wasn’t much a would-be killer could really do. He’d have to wait until they landed in New York, and by then, they’d be surrounded with security.

  Perhaps that’s the plan, he thought. Perhaps the gaunt man would follow them to New York, wait until they were clear of the airport, and then strike.

  Jacob realized he couldn’t let the man get on the flight.

  A plan started to formulate.

  ***

  Jacob had to get the timing right; otherwise it wouldn’t work.

  The flight was just ten minutes from boarding and the gaunt man was still reading his paper at the bar. Occasionally he’d look up at the departure board and check his watch.

  Jacob eyed the man’s boarding pass poking out of his laptop case flap.

  “I don’t want you to ask any questions,” Jacob said quietly to Emma and Brian. “But let me do this. Okay?”

  Emma gave him an expression that said What the hell?

  He looked at the time. Just a few more minutes to go.

  One of the flight attendants was approaching the desk. They’d make the call soon. He scanned the lounge, trying to find the security officers, who were doing a routine circuit. He’d counted the minutes of each pass. They were due back any second now.

  He casually approached the bar, heart pounding.

  “Beer, please,” Jacob said to the barman.

  He dropped his shoulder, holding his left arm down.

  Jacob’s fingertips flicked paper. The boarding pass.

  He whipped it out and walked quickly back to the group.

  A tall brunette wearing too much makeup stood at the desk and spoke into a PA microphone. “Calling all passengers of Flight 3463 to JFK, New York. We’re now boarding. Please make your way to the desk with your tickets and passports ready. Thank you.”

  “What have you done?” Emma said as Jacob flashed the boarding pass to her. He folded it, slipping it in his back pocket.

  Brian nodded. “Here we go.”

  His face had taken on an ashen, waxy quality.

  Jacob was glad he hadn’t added to his anxiety by telling him the gaunt man was spying on them.

  “Hold my place,” Jacob said as he stood and darted off. He looked for the gaunt man, who had left his seat at the bar and joined near the rear of the queue.

  The gaunt man faced toward the departure desk, checking his pockets for his paperwork.

  Jacob rejoined the front of the queue and took his ticket and passport from Emma. Brian was already on the other side of the desk waiting.

  He looked back.

  The gaunt man was in a panic.

  “I seem to have misplaced my boarding pass,” he said, trying to convince the boarding staff.

  The attendant brushed him away and worked twice as fast, checking tickets and passports, waving people through the gate. Emma and Jacob joined Brian and made their way down the ramp.

  “See,” Brian said. “Trouble already! How do we know there’s not a bomb on the plane?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Emma said. “You’ll get us thrown off the flight.”

  “Brian, chill out. It was me. I’ll explain later. There
’s no trouble. Not anymore.”

  Brian opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and shook his head.

  All three got on the plane and found their seats. Jacob had the window seat with Emma next to him. Brian was in the middle aisle, sitting next to a sweet old lady who was enthusiastically telling Brian about her first flight during the Second World War. It clearly wasn’t helping his anxiety.

  “What was all that back there?” Emma asked.

  “Insurance. That guy, the British one, he was spying on us. I think he’s one of Gray’s men. One of them.”

  “A clone?”

  Jacob shrugged. “I don’t know exactly, but I got bad vibes from him, and he was watching us the entire time. I took his boarding pass.”

  “What if he’s just a regular guy?” Emma said.

  “I don’t want to take the risk. He was clearly up to something. We have to be on alert for this kind of thing. Gray’s creations could be anyone.”

  Jacob knew he sounded like the archetypal paranoiac, but he subscribed to the old saying ‘Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not following you.’

  The last of the passengers got on the plane and Jacob started to relax. The gaunt man, whatever he was, wouldn’t be a problem now.

  A pair of flight attendants had started their welcoming speech and introductions when a flustered member of airport security interrupted them.

  “I’m sorry,” the young woman said, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “We’ve cleared one more.”

  “Okay, bring them on now,” the attendant replied.

  Looking furious and making his way down the aisle was the Brit.

  Damn it! Jacob kicked out at the chair, eliciting a shout of “Hey, watch it back there,” from an elderly man.

  As the man passed by Jacob, they locked eyes again.

  Jacob tried to give him a friendly smile, but the Brit just scowled back before taking his seat a number of rows behind them.

  Emma leaned in close. “Is that him?”

  “Yeah,” Jacob whispered. “I can’t believe it didn’t work. I thought these places were supposed to be super hot on security?”

  “We’ll just have to keep an eye on him. He could just be a regular guy.”

  “Maybe.”

  But Jacob had a bad feeling in his gut and the fact that the man was sitting behind Jacob only made it worse.

  It’s going to be a long flight, he thought.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  9 p.m., Day 3, XNA Industries Facility, Alaska

  Gray leaned towards a conference-call phone positioned in the middle of the meeting-room table and turned up the volume. “Two questions today. How’s production coming along? Are we making any progress with the biofuel?”

  “We’re on target with production,” a young, enthusiastic voice replied. “The biofuel’s taken a backseat. I’ve dedicated our team to sourcing the material to keep us on track.”

  “Thank you, Steven. You made the right decision.”

  “I tried to call a few times yesterday after you messaged. Did you get my voicemail?”

  “I did, and I am sorry about that. Call Michael, please. He needs to complete some network configuration changes today.”

  “Sure. I’ll get someone to call him right away.”

  “How is the food over there?”

  “Terrible. Is there anything else?”

  “Nothing for you to worry about, Steven. We’re still in good shape. Talk to you in a couple of days.”

  He pressed the red call-release button then started to the door, dropping his paper cup of coffee into a small wastepaper basket as he passed it by. The lid on the cup irritated him; it was almost impossible to get a satisfying sip without spilling down one’s shirt.

  Gray thought it would take him all of twenty minutes to improve the design. He smiled to himself when he thought about the months that probably went into making such a poor product.

  He trudged along the sterile, strip-lit, magnolia-walled corridors to his office.

  Morning sunshine radiated through his office window, lighting up dust particles floating around the middle of the room. Gray shook his head, closed the blinds, then booted up his desktop computer. He started to read through the updated reports on his monitor. Three sharp knocks echoed from the door.

  “Come in, Michael.”

  Michael entered the office, walked towards the bookcase at the far end, spun on his heel and returned to face Gray’s desk.

  “I’ve just had a call about the network configuration,” Michael said.

  “I thought you might want help. You’ve got a busy day ahead.”

  “I can do it myself. I don’t need any help.”

  “I know you can, but I’ve just read a report—”

  “I’ve seen it myself. We lost the signal about an hour ago. I tracked the coordinates to the airport. There was only one flight that departed around that time.”

  “Have we got our bases covered?” Gray shook his head. Surely Devereaux hadn’t started rubbing off on him. “Apologies, Michael, I meant do we have the situation under control? We need that chip back.”

  “It won’t be a problem. I’m heading into town after I’ve completed the changes. I’ll be back sometime later this afternoon.”

  “Good, don’t take long. We may be receiving guests later.”

  Gray returned his gaze to the monitor. In his peripheral vision he noticed Michael standing in the same position, fidgeting with his tie.

  “Is there something else you wanted?” Gray said.

  “Well… no, that’s it.”

  “Come on, Michael, what’s bothering you? You’ve been like this since we landed. Is it Devereaux?”

  “I’m thinking about our two guys in Portland. It seemed, you know…”

  “They’ve been moved overnight to Montana.”

  “I know. I’ve seen the logs.”

  “What is it, then? You can speak openly, you know that.”

  “I just don’t want any sacrificial lambs. You’re effectively their creator. Aren’t you bothered by their deaths?”

  “Everyone has a purpose. What’s important to some people may seem irrelevant to others. We need to remain focused on our end game. You know we had to build in some contingencies. I didn’t want it to happen.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Have you analyzed the latest data?”

  “No, it didn’t seem to be a priority.”

  Gray gestured towards the door. “You’ve got things to be doing, and we’ll have time for reflection.”

  Michael nodded and left the office.

  Gray picked up the phone and pressed ‘0.’

  “Dr. Gray, can I help you?” the receptionist said.

  “Is Tanya Merriweather still in her office?”

  “Yes, Doctor. Would you like me to connect you?”

  “No, that’s fine. I can manage to walk to the other side of the facility,” he replied.

  ***

  Gray crossed the parking lot to a small brick building. He liked to keep the admin staff and technical team apart. Ever since leaving college, he always felt bogged down by admin staff.

  They’d made him do online courses about health and safety, fill in surveys about trivial matters like food or the workspace environment, and generally pestered him to provide updates for generic company or research presentations. He vowed that XNA Industries wouldn’t suffer the same kind of interference.

  Merriweather, being sales, was part of that team. Devereaux had occupied the largest office in the building. Gray could give it to Merriweather. Her room was a glorified cupboard.

  He knocked on her office door and gently pushed it open. The door creaked aside, revealing Merriweather stuffing a small makeup case into her handbag. She looked up, backing away in her seat.

  Gray stepped in, twitching his nose at the stench of perfume. The office had a window overlooking the parking lot, a small desk with a laptop port, and a cupb
oard, no doubt housing Merriweather’s cosmetics.

  “Dr. Gray… I… Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Good morning, Miss Merriweather. How are you feeling today?”

  She nervously nodded, forcing a smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “I want you to move next door into Devereaux’s office. If we’re going to be working together on this campaign, don’t you think you need a little more room?”

  “It’s okay. I’m okay. I can come over to your office.”

  “Don’t you want a bigger office? If the networks want to film you in a working environment…”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Gray noticed her eyes taking on a dewy appearance. Her fingers reddened at the ends as she tightly clasped her hands together. Merriweather was starting to become a concern.

  “I’ll clear Mr. Devereaux’s office and move myself in,” she stuttered.

  “There’s no need. You carry on with your work. I’ll send somebody over to handle the move,” Gray said as he left the room.

  As he walked back to the main facility across the parking lot, he pondered the future. He should have been receiving gratitude for his creations. Instead, he’d been snubbed by international businessmen—even the kind who didn’t necessarily worry about ethics as long as their bottom line improved. There was simply no other choice but to stick with the second part of the plan. In truth, he was glad that he could finally drop the act.

  The meetings and presentations were part of the velvet glove that shielded the iron fist, but they were becoming tedious. He entered the main control room to find Michael busily tapping away on a keyboard below a bank of monitors. Gray looked at the console. For the first time in months he felt like his old self again. If he were honest with himself, he would have preferred to not have bothered with the whole Devereaux charade. His real plan had been in place for months, but Michael had convinced him to at least weigh the options.

  Well, the options were limited to one now and they could finally move on and see what his XNA tech could really do.

  “How are we doing?” Gray said.

  “Six are in place. The other two will be shortly.”