Proxy, page 12
“Tell them I’m not answering questions or speaking to anyone from the press until I have a better idea of what happened. Refer any further questions to our public relations department. Got that?”
Lovatt nodded. They reached the entrance of the main building, which was currently empty, and Raphael dived inside, quickly locking the door. Lovatt remained outside, turning to face the onslaught of journalists, his arms spread wide as he called for their attention.
Raphael stepped into a vacant side-office and caught his breath. He could hear Nat Dorsey’s amplified voice from the direction of the stage; she was making a valiant effort to explain the Centre’s importance to an audience that had lost all interest in anything she had to say.
Dorsey had fought long and hard to have this Centre built, and as Raphael listened, he almost felt a twinge of regret for the price he’d extracted from her in return for Telop’s support.
Almost.
Later, after the television crews and journalists had finally departed and Raphael had been fully apprised of that morning’s events by Lovatt, he spoke to Doctor Dorsey alone in a laboratory filled with new and still shrink-wrapped equipment.
“The animals,” he asked. “Do you have them ready?”
Whenever Dorsey spoke to her television audience, which numbered in the millions, she did so with overwhelming confidence. Her strong and craggy features bore evidence of a life lived mostly outdoors and in a variety of inhospitable and often remote environments. Now, however, much of that aura of confidence had fled, and as he spoke her gaze remained fixed on a point somewhere past his shoulder.
Raphael turned to see that her attention was directed at a window behind him. Through the window, past high wire fencing, he saw a dark shape silhouetted by the fading light of the afternoon sitting high in the branches of a tree.
“I’m not happy about this,” said Dorsey when he turned back to face her. This time she met his gaze with eyes that were full of defiance. “I want to save these animals, not… exploit them.” Her lips curled in disgust. “Especially not like this.”
Raphael raised an eyebrow. “They are being saved, Doctor Dorsey, as well as being protected. That’s why the Centre is here.”
“Yes, but…” She paused as if summoning inner strength. “But what you’re asking of me goes against the grain.” Her words took on a beseeching quality. “It’s not what I spent a lifetime working in Africa and South America for. Can’t you at least tell me why you’re doing this to them?”
“I don’t recall you complaining when I offered to help save you from bankruptcy,” Raphael replied. “As to why, I have my reasons.”
Dorsey’s mouth formed into a flat, thin line. “I could talk to the press,” she said. “Tell them about the…the experiments you’ve been doing.”
“Yes, you could,” said Raphael. “And it might make things difficult for me, for a few days. But your career would be over the moment the world learned of your complicity in those same experiments.”
Dorsey’s head ducked down in a signal of defeat. Raphael tried not to let his satisfaction show. “Now tell me if you’ve done what I asked.”
“I’ve injected the gorillas with the hopscotch beads you gave me, just as you asked.” Her voice was low and bitter. “But I very much want to know why.”
“That’s my business,” Raphael reminded her firmly. “But if you must know,” he said, “it’s my intention to proxy with them personally.”
Her eyes widened in horror and she took a step back from him, bumping into one of the long tables that filled the laboratory. “You can’t be serious!” she cried, clearly appalled. “Think of the damage you could do to yourself, let alone the gorillas. Assuming it’s even possible to proxy across species. Nobody’s ever managed to—!”
“If you don’t do precisely what you’re told without questioning me further,” Raphael said as evenly as his growing temper would allow, “I’ll have you escorted from the premises and make sure you never set foot in here again.”
That shut her up. Crimson flowed up her neck and into her cheeks, her anger blossoming into barely suppressed fury.
For a moment, Raphael wondered if perhaps he had pushed her too far to be sure she would keep her silence. He could arrange for her to have an accident, of course. But the death—accidental or otherwise—of someone with so high a public profile carried with it the risk of a major investigation.
And that was something he couldn’t afford. Not when he was so close to achieving everything he had been working towards for so long.
Even the simple act of trying to keep Stacy from speaking to a journalist had triggered a whole hornet’s nest of complications just when his attention needed to be focused on his long-term survival. Somehow, and by some means that defied his comprehension, she had slipped from his grasp. Not that she should have survived the encounter with her intended assassin…
No, he decided, from now on he would take care of such matters himself. There would be no more hiring of third parties.
Raphael’s bracelet buzzed at that same moment.
“Excuse me,” he said to Dorsey, stepping away from her.
“Sir?” Raphael recognized Lovatt’s voice. “I thought you ought to know that the police intend to launch their own enquiry into your daughter’s disappearance from the Peartree.”
Raphael swore under his breath. “Get onto Peterson at the law firm,” he ordered Lovatt. “I want the police as far from this as possible. Emphasize that this is a private matter. We can make up some story for them—say she wasn’t kidnapped, but that she voluntarily left with those people. Have Peterson send me hourly updates. And I want the same from you—is that understood?”
“Sir.”
Raphael ended the call, feeling his hand tremble slightly as he lowered his arm. It was a ridiculous suggestion he’d made to Lovatt, but he could try and come up with a better explanation for Stacy’s disappearance later.
He returned his attention to Dorsey, who regarded him with a mixture of sour distaste and something that might be cunning. Perhaps, he thought, she was hoping the act of proxying with her animals would cause him irreversible brain damage or even kill him.
To his surprise Raphael felt a sudden, unexpected desire to tell her of his plans, of how he was not only fighting for his life, but that the very experiments that aroused her ire might help him—and by extension, the whole human race—achieve something very like immortality.
“The enclosure,” he said to Dorsey. “I want you to take me there now.”
At least Dorsey’s anger appeared to have abated. She complied without another word, her manner listless as she led him towards the locked gates of the gorilla enclosure.
The enclosure occupied several acres of woodland bordered by stainless-steel mesh. A steel-framed door led inside the enclosure, while near-indestructible netting slung over the treetops kept the animals from escaping their new home.
“The keys,” said Raphael, his voice betraying his excitement.
Dorsey placed the enclosure’s keys in his outstretched hand. “I suppose,” she said, “I should remind you there’s a decent chance they’ll rip you limb from limb.”
Her tone made it clear she’d be perfectly fine with that outcome.
“You can go now,” he replied curtly.
Dorsey turned and walked away, her gait stiff-legged.
Raphael waited several minutes until he saw the lights of her car come on from far across the park, then move along the road leading away from the Centre. Once she was gone from sight, he unlocked the gate to the animal enclosure, almost dropping the keys in his haste.
Once he was inside, the gate closed behind him. Heart beating thunderously in his chest, he stared into the darkness between the trees, hearing the rustle of leaves in a passing breeze.
As he waited, he thought of Isaac. Was it possible he might have something to do with the events at the Peartree? But if so, how could he possibly have organized so many people to come to Stacy’s rescue?
Not unless he, too, could somehow…
No. No, that wasn’t, couldn’t be possible. There had to be another explanation.
Raphael took a deep breath, then let the air seep slowly from his lungs as he listened for sounds of movement. When they’d reached the enclosure, Raphael had felt another impulse, to ask Dorsey to wait by the enclosure gate long enough to bear witness to the impossible thing he was about to do.
But would she have understood? Would she have shared his sense of triumph, or have been just as short-sighted as all the rest?
The latter, most likely, he decided. And even if he had let her stay, he couldn’t possibly have allowed her to live, not so long as there was a chance she might tell others what she had seen.
Just then, Raphael heard a rustle of leaves and looked up, seeing a silhouetted shape moving amidst the branches high overhead. The shape, black against black, dropped onto the grass a few meters in front of him.
The gorilla raised itself up on two legs, its huge barrel chest making Raphael think of old monster movies. Only now that he was so close to the beast could he see how enormous it was—and how utterly terrifying.
Moonlight glinted from its fangs, the pale whites of its eyes showing as it peered at him with little more than passing curiosity.
Then he felt the shift happen, and just like that, Raphael was looking back at himself through the creature’s own eyes.
Yet rather than being under the control of the gorilla, his own, human body remained his to command. He was in complete control of both, simultaneously, while the gorilla’s own consciousness had been reduced to a dormant state not unlike deep sleep.
Something that, so far as anyone else knew, should be impossible.
Then more dark shapes came lumbering out from amidst the trees, curious to see what threat this intruder might represent. One of the gorillas was even bigger than the first, and looked like it could rip him limb from limb as easily as Raphael himself could tear a sheet of paper.
This larger beast sniffed at the air, then bared its teeth as if to challenge him.
In the next instant a second connection was established. Raphael’s human body fell to its knees, overwhelmed by the experience. Now he was in control of three bodies: two gorillas, and one human.
Then another of the gorillas came under his control, and the number increased to four.
Then five.
Raphael had feared the experience would overwhelm him. Instead, the shift to multiple simultaneous perspectives and consciousnesses was ecstatic, bordering on holy.
One might even say godlike.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
STACY
Stacy became sufficiently aware of her surroundings to register that she sat facing an old woman, close enough that their knees brushed against each other. Looking to her right, she saw buildings and streets flashing by through a windscreen.
Was she still on her way to London from Paris? But hadn’t that been aboard a train? And hadn’t she already arrived...?
Blinking, she struggled to clear the fog from her thoughts. Her body was a mass of dull aches, and her right elbow itched badly beneath its bandaging.
Then came a screech of tires, and the old woman reached out to Stacy, steadying her with a hand on one shoulder.
They were both sent lurching to one side with enough force that Stacy would have slid from her slender perch if not for the older woman’s steadying grip.
She was, Stacy at last realized, in the back of a van. The van’s rear doors, to her left, were hidden behind roll-down blinds.
But where were they going?
The old woman gave Stacy an encouraging nod, then sat back again. She had tangled grey hair and wore a heavy parka that must have been stifling in the warm weather. Beneath it, she appeared to be wearing little more than fluffy pyjamas.
The old woman opened a plastic box on her lap and took out a hypodermic syringe. The van veered around another corner, and once more the old woman grabbed Stacy’s shoulder with her free hand to keep her from sliding to the floor.
It was more than just a van, Stacy realized, studying her surroundings more closely. It was old, possibly even from the previous century, at least judging by how dilapidated it looked.
Looking down, she saw that she was perched on the edge of a tiny bed, while the old woman directly opposite her sat balanced on a wooden stool. Shelves and a cooking area had been built into the van’s interior, while the blinds over the back windows provided some semblance of privacy.
Curious, Stacy reached out with her un-bandaged arm, pushing the blinds to one side so she could look outside. She saw startled pigeons rising in great flapping clouds from a tree outside a church.
Something stung the back of Stacy’s right hand. Gasping in surprise, she looked down to see that the old woman had injected her with something just where her skin emerged from the bandaging.
Within seconds everything seemed brighter and sharper, as if she’d emerged from a dense fog into brilliant daylight. The constant ache in her ribs and right arm began to fade almost immediately.
Someone—a man—sat in the front of the van, driving it manually. Even though she could only see the back of his head, he seemed oddly familiar.
“She’s awake, Isaac,” the old woman said to the man. “Pull over at the next corner. It’s time to switch to the next car.”
Isaac?
Then she looked more closely and realized it really was him. She felt a sudden rush of joy, and something else welling up from deep within her chest that might have been relief or equally despair.
She opened her mouth to ask what had happened to him, or if he had talked to the journalist. But before she could, the van came to a halt with such force it made Stacy gasp. This time, she was able to catch herself one-handed before she slipped off the edge of the bed.
The old woman gave her a reassuring smile. “The shot I gave you should clear things up a bit,” she said. “But we’re not home-free yet.”
“I don’t understand,” said Stacy.
Hearing a thump, she looked up front and saw Isaac had got out and stepped around in front of the van. He’d hardly looked at her; indeed, he seemed entirely occupied with something, his expression taut with worry. She could hear him muttering to himself, even if she couldn’t make out the actual words.
The old woman stood, pushing past Stacy to open the rear doors before climbing out.
“Who are you?” Stacy asked, looking out at the old woman.
“My name is Zero,” the old woman replied, then beckoned to Stacy to disembark. “If you don’t mind, we really are in a bit of a hurry, Miss Cotter.”
Moving unsteadily, her senses still weaving despite whatever had been pumped into her veins, Stacy soon found herself standing on a residential side-street that could have been anywhere from London to Brighton. She had a vague recollection of crowds of strangers guiding her down the steps of a hospital, but it felt more like a dream than anything real.
Somewhere between then and now she had acquired a T-shirt and jeans to replace her flimsy hospital gown. Stained leather boots clad her previously bare feet.
She found she could stand unaided without too much effort. Whatever they’d been treating her with at the Peartree appeared to have set her well on the road to recovery. Or maybe it was something to do with whatever the weird old woman with the even weirder name had injected her with.
Zero shrugged off her heavy parka and held it out to Stacy. “Here,” she said. “Put this on.”
“I don’t need it,” said Stacy. “It’s too warm.”
“That’s not why I want you to put it on,” said the old woman. “Hurry. Someone might be watching us right now.”
A thousand questions crowded Stacy’s lips, but she said nothing and put the parka on as instructed. Zero tugged the parka’s hood down until Stacy’s face was almost entirely concealed. She had a sudden memory of doing the same thing with her hoodie when she had arrived in London.
“Keep your head down,” Zero told her in an urgent whisper. “And don’t look up. Cameras are everywhere.”
Close by the van stood a vintage four-door Jaguar that itself had to be most of a century old. A man in his nineties or early hundreds, dressed in an expensive pinstriped suit and scarlet tie, stood by its open door, clearly waiting for them.
Stacy watched, befuddled, as Zero got back into her van and drove away. She looked around and saw Isaac talking to the man in pinstripes in a low and confidential tone.
“Isaac?” Stacy asked, stepping up to him. Her heart had started to beat so rapidly she could hear it thudding in her chest. “Is it really you? Who are these people?”
Isaac turned to look at Stacy, then immediately wrapped her up in a bear hug.
“Questions later,” he said, pulling back so he could see her face. His cheeks were damp with tears as he contemplated her. “I promise I’ll have answers. But for now we have to hurry.”
He turned back to the man standing by the Jaguar. “Let’s go.”
“Who is he?” Stacy asked as Isaac guided her into the rear of the Jaguar. The car’s owner got in front and after a moment she heard the soft hum of its batteries.
“Zero,” Isaac replied as the car picked up speed.
“I don’t mean the old woman,” said Stacy, motioning her head at the man who had taken manual control of the Jaguar. “I mean him.”
“I know who you mean,” said Isaac, a whisper of a smile playing on his lips. “They’re both Zero.”
She stared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s confusing, I know,” he said. “And I did say I’d explain everything, but I’d still rather wait until we’re out of harm’s way.”
There were four more stops after that. The first took them inside a garage down a side-street. The Jaguar’s driver led them inside the garage, down a flight of steps and along a subterranean corridor. Stacy stumbled along after them, baffled and unsure what on Earth was going on.
