Derek Samuels watched over the shoulder of the programmer, suppressing the desire to shoot him in the head for failing miserably to restore power. He was not a man who ever allowed himself to lose control, but today he was close. ‘The press conference is due to start in fifteen minutes,’ he said, his voice low and menacing, ‘and if energy is not restored, if Mr Pincent is forced to cancel, then you and your family will live to regret it.’
The programmer, who was sweating profusely, nodded. He’d had his entire team scanning every interface, every programme, every connection, and still he’d found nothing. ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ he said, his voice tight with stress. ‘We can’t find the problem, that’s the thing. Everything’s as it should be.’
‘Everything is evidently not as it should be, otherwise it would be working,’ Mr Samuels snarled. ‘I don’t have time for this. Get this thing working now.’
The programmer was sweating. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. ‘Yes, sir, I’ll just . . .’ He was interrupted by a flash of light, a sound of whirring, of machines coming back to life. He had no idea why – it wasn’t anything he’d done – but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He stared at his screen for a few moments, not daring to believe energy was restored, then, slowly, a smile crept its way across his face. ‘There we are,’ he said tentatively. ‘I think you’ll find it’s fixed.’
Derek Samuels opened the door, saw that the lights were indeed on along the corridor, that the electronic locks were once again working. ‘What did you do?’ he demanded. ‘What was the problem? Was it sabotage? Was it interference or a system failure?’
The programmer smiled uncertainly. ‘It was . . . a system failure,’ he said, after a brief pause in which he’d worked out that a terrorist attack would require him to point out what the attackers did, something that he knew he was unable to do.
‘I see,’ Samuels said darkly. ‘And it took you this long to work out the problem?’
‘I’ve only been here an hour,’ the programmer pointed out, his confidence returning. ‘And it’s fixed, isn’t it?’
‘For all I know, you could have caused the problem in the first place. For all I know, you could be an Underground supporter.’
‘An Underground supporter?’ The programmer’s eyes widened. ‘Why would I support them? I’m just doing my job. I’m just . . .’
‘Never mind,’ Samuels said curtly. ‘You’ll stay here until we know exactly what happened.’ He looked over to the guard. ‘Bring the Fitz-Patrick boy here.’
Minutes later, Jude appeared, pushed into the room by the guard. His clothes were stained and torn, his face streaked with black dust.
Derek Samuels looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been busy,’ he said evenly.
‘I’ve been trying to get out,’ Jude said sullenly. ‘You left me in a cupboard and I’m claustrophobic. The lights went out. I didn’t know what to do.’
‘You were trying to get out? Of Pincent Pharma? That’s interesting. I heard that someone has been clambering about above our ceilings. That wouldn’t be you, I suppose?’
Jude raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said, shrugging. ‘Anyway, I didn’t manage to get out, did I? So can I go now?’
‘Go?’ Mr Samuels smiled thinly. ‘Oh, I don’t think you are going anywhere, Jude. You see, we take breaches of our security very seriously, as do the Authorities. We take the lives of our guards very seriously. We take attacks on our energy supply very seriously, too. So I want you to sit down here and have a little think, because if you know anything about what’s happened here today, you are going to tell me, do you understand? Guard, take the programmer away and . . . look after him, will you?’
The guard nodded, immediately, and pulled the programmer from his chair, who shot a terrified look in Jude’s direction before stumbling out of the room.
Richard Pincent slammed down the phone and looked over at Hillary who was sitting primly on a sofa near his desk.
‘You see?’ he said, relief surging through him and a look of triumph spread all over his face. ‘Energy has been restored.’
‘And the culprit?’
‘Information will be passed to the Authorities at the relevant time,’ Richard said. ‘Investigations are still underway.’
‘Good. Because we will want to see a comprehensive report. Security breaches at Pincent Pharma reflect badly on the Authorities, Richard. They raise all sorts of questions about competence. And there’s the issue of your grandson, Richard. How can you be sure he will follow the script? It’s very important that he does – for confidence in you, in the Pincent Pharma brand. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do,’ Richard said. ‘Trust me, Peter knows what he has to do.’ He could feel his blood pressure rising, could feel his heart pounding away in his chest like an out-of-control train rushing down the tracks; he would need a new one in a matter of days, would ensure that one was grown for him immediately.
‘I hope so, for your sake,’ Hillary said darkly. Richard turned his chair around so that he could look out at the river. Across the river he could see the dim, dull lights of the Authorities’ various buildings. All afternoon Pincent Pharma’s switchboard had been inundated by calls from people within those same buildings perturbed by the lack of light emanating from his side of the river, asking with barely concealed delight whether there were ‘any problems’. He knew full well that there was nothing the Secretary General would like more than an excuse to take Pincent Pharma into state control. Today had to go well. Peter had to follow the script.
‘Shall we go?’ he asked, forcing a smile.
‘Yes,’ Hillary said sternly,
standing up and brushing out imagined creases in her skirt.
‘Let’s.’
Mr Samuels pointed to the programmer’s vacated chair; when Jude sat down, it was hot and wet from his sweat.
‘And now,’ Mr Samuels said, ‘you will tell me everything you know. If you don’t, you will experience pain beyond anything you have ever imagined. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ Jude said calmly. He expected to be terrified, was waiting for the panic to set in. But, strangely, he felt neither of those things. He felt alive. He felt, for the first time in his whole life, like he mattered, like he was part of something good.
He pretended to frown at the computer screen. ‘You want me to track the problem with your energy? My rate is five thousand a day,’ he said.
‘Four of my guards are dead,’ Mr Samuels said, his voice low and angry. ‘Is it a coincidence that guards were killed on the very day you enter the building? That our energy system goes down also? I don’t believe in coincidence, Jude.’
‘Dead?’ Jude said, shaking his head incredulously and noting archly to himself that Derek Samuels wasn’t mentioning anything about some missing Surpluses. ‘But you can’t think I had anything to do with it. I’ve been locked up all this time.’
Derek Samuels stared at him icily for a few seconds before standing up. ‘You have five minutes,’ he said. ‘Five minutes to tell me what’s going on.’
Jude’s eyes flicked down to his watch. The press conference would be starting soon. He was fairly sure Derek Samuels would want to be there.
‘Look, I wish I could help, I do,’ he said, playing for time. ‘But this is really nothing to do with me. None of it.’
As he spoke, the door flew open and a man appeared in the doorway.
‘Derek, we’re starting now.’
Jude felt his heart quicken as he realised who it was. Richard Pincent, regularly described as the most powerful man in the world. He was wearing a suit; his voice was relaxed. He didn’t know, Jude realised. He couldn’t know.
‘The guards are in place,’ Derek Samuels said, immediately standing up. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’
Richard nodded, then he moved closer, his eyes glistening dangerously. ‘Behind me?’ he asked. ‘No, Derek, not behind me. You’ll go now and you’ll get Peter. You will escort him personally to the lobby and you will satisfy yourself that everything is as it should be. Then you will make it absolutely clear to my grandson that if he does not do exactly as he is told, his little friend will be locked up for the rest of her short life. Do you understand? There will be no more problems today. Nothing will go wrong – do I make myself absolutely clear?’
‘Yes, sir. Perfectly.’ Mr Samuels nodded; Jude could see a drop of sweat wending its way down the side of his face. ‘Mr Pincent, about the girl.’
‘Yes?’ His face was like thunder, Jude found himself thinking. ‘She’s been dealt with?’
Derek Samuels hesistated. ‘Yes, sir. Yes, that’s right.’
‘Good. I’m waiting, Derek.’
‘Of course, sir.’ Derek Samuels grabbed two guards and ordered them to hold Jude. ‘Hold on to him until the conference is over,’ he said. ‘Keep him where you can see him. Where I can see him. Where everyone can see him,’ he said, his own fear appearing to compound his anger. He leant in close so that his face was just centimetres from Jude’s. ‘Once everyone has gone,’ he whispered darkly, ‘you and I are going to spend some time together. By the end of it, you’ll be begging to tell me everything. And if I let you go, eventually, you’ll still never be free. Because you’ll always know that I’m there, behind you, watching everything you do, waiting to hurt you again. You can run as far as you like, fabricate as many identities as you like, but you won’t escape me. No one ever does.’