The Shadow Protocol (27 page)

“Thank you!” Bianca backed away, trying to do the sums in her head and quickly finding that they were beyond the limits of her mental arithmetic. “I need a pen and paper, or a calc—” Adam used his free hand to take out his phone and toss it to her. “Okay, thanks.” She found the calculator app and started tapping in numbers.

Zykov was as confused as he was angry. “Who are you? This is about more than just taking my money, isn’t it?”

“Very perceptive, little comrade,” said Adam.

Zykov scowled. “I will kill you for this. And her.”

“You won’t even know it happened. Bianca?”

“Got it,” she said with relief. She loaded the jet injector with Hyperthymexine and set the dial to what she hoped was the right dose. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Zykov started to struggle; Adam jammed his free hand down hard on his throat. The Russian rasped, choking. “Shit!” Bianca gasped, afraid that he would alert his guards. She pushed the injector against his neck.

“No, wait!” said Adam, but it was too late. A brief
phut
of gas. Zykov’s breathless rattle became a strained gurgle of pain as his entire body convulsed. “Wrong order, you’ve done it in the wrong order!” He released the Russian and scrambled across the bed to the laptop bag.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” Bianca squeaked, close to panic. “I thought he was going to shout for help!”

“It’s okay. Help me with this.” Dropping the gun, he unzipped the bag to reveal the PERSONA equipment. One corner of the recorder was cracked where it had hit the rooftop. “Tony!”

His superior’s voice came through the earwig. “Yes?”

“The recorder’s damaged,” he said, already opening the main unit’s screen and starting it up. “Do you want to risk—”

“No, just make a direct transfer,” Tony ordered. He didn’t need to ask what had happened; the audio feed from their earwigs and the hovering drone’s cameras
had told the full story. “Get as much as you can before the drug wears off.”

“I’m sorry,” Bianca said again as she prepared the skullcaps. “I was—”

“It’s okay, it doesn’t matter,” he assured her. “Just set everything up as quickly as you can.”

She gave one of the caps to Adam, who donned it and started to adjust the positions of the electrode clusters. “I don’t know what the margin of error is on this thing,” he said, as much to himself as anyone, “so it’s a good job I’m a gambler right now.”

Bianca pulled the second skullcap over Zykov’s head. She had seen the effects of being injected with Hyperthymexine on video, finding it merely unsettling, but in person—and on an unwilling subject—it was extremely disturbing. “How long have we got?”

“No idea. Roger was the expert. Does this look right?” Adam pulled the chin strap tight, then turned his head so she could see it from all angles.

“As far as I can tell.”

“Okay.” He took out the jet injector. “I’ll wipe Vanwall’s persona. You connect everything up, and the second you’re ready, start the transfer.” He lay back on the bed and put the injector’s nozzle to his neck.

“Adam, I …,” Bianca started to say, but he had already pulled the trigger. His body tensed … then the ever-etched smirk of Peter Vanwall slowly dissolved from his face.

She turned back to Zykov. The Russian was straining as if his muscles were trying to burst through his skin, eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. The drug was firing his synapses, forcing him to recall all his memories—but how many had already gone?

The thought galvanized her. She secured the skullcap, giving the electrodes one last quick check. If they were wrongly positioned, it was too late to do anything about it. She took the cable and plugged it into the PERSONA, then did the same with the lead from Adam’s cap. “Okay,
here we go,” she said breathlessly as she tapped the keyboard.

ACTIVE: PERSONA TRANSFER IN PROGRESS
.

The screen lit up, numbers scrolling up one window. The stylized graphic flared with pulsating colors as the electrodes read Zykov’s brain activity and sent that data into Adam’s mind. How much had her mistake lost? And how would only having a partial persona affect Adam? She had no idea; it was not a possibility Albion or Kiddrick had ever envisaged.

Adam’s fingers were twitching, eyes moving as quickly as Zykov’s.
Something
was being transferred, at least. Enough to get the information they needed? All she could do was wait and hope.

A minute passed. The data on the screen told her that everything seemed normal—so far. But for how much longer?

“Bianca,” Holly Jo said, giving her a start. “One of the bodyguards just came into the lounge.” More urgency in her voice. “He’s heading for the bedroom!”

Bianca whipped around in helpless horror as someone knocked on the door.

A man said something in Russian. A question, Bianca could tell from his intonation. But she had no answer. And with Zykov trapped in the whirlwind of his own memories, there was no way she could force him to reply.

Another knock. If he didn’t get an answer soon—She didn’t know what prompted her to do it, perhaps the half-forgotten memory of a scene from some movie or book, but she
giggled
, bouncing up and down on the end of the bed. The mattress creaked. Simultaneously blushing at the incongruous silliness of her actions and gripped with utter terror, she waited …

The door didn’t open.

“He’s going,” said Holly Jo, voice filled with relief.

“Bianca, stay still,” Tony added. Seconds passed. Bianca heard the faint clunk of a door. “Okay, he’s gone.”

She let out an explosive exhalation. “Oh Jesus! Shit.” Her hands were shaking—no, her whole body. “God, that was close.”

“Are you all right?” asked Tony.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just … scared,” she admitted.

“You’ve done an amazing job, Bianca. Really. All you need to do now is wrap it up and we can get you out of there. How’s the transfer going?”

She checked the PERSONA. The visual representations of the process were now quiescent. “I think it’s done,” she said, pecking at the keyboard with a quivering finger.
“It says the latency estimates are … God, I don’t know. Not what they should be, is all I can tell you.”

“Check on Adam.”

She moved to him. His eyes were closed. “Adam?” she said quietly. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes.” He frowned, as if experiencing a mild headache.

“Ask him his name,” said Tony.

She did so. Adam opened his eyes, giving her a pained look. “Adam Gray.”

“It didn’t work,” she said, crestfallen. Everything had been for nothing …

“No, wait,” Adam said, raising a hand. “It’s there, it’s just … fuzzy. Hold on. My name is … Ruslan. Ruslan Pavelovich Zykov.” His voice changed as he repeated the name, taking on some of the Russian’s heavy accent.

“Your date of birth?” Bianca asked hopefully.

“January 1966. The … the tenth.”

“That’s right,” said Holly Jo through Bianca’s earwig.

Bianca decided to skip through the standard questions. “What’s your most guilty secret?”

Adam’s reluctance to answer told her that at least some of Zykov’s persona had been transferred to him. “When I was a boy, I … I stole from our church. I broke in and took all the icons, and sold them to a trader for two hundred American dollars. The whole village was horrified, but they never found out it was me who took them.”

Bianca leaned back, surprised. Zykov was an arms dealer, a violent killer—and
that
was the event in his life of which he was most ashamed? “Okay, I think it worked,” she announced to those listening. “So now can we get out of here?”

Adam unstrapped his skullcap. “We need to wipe Zykov’s memory first.”

“And figure out a way to explain why he’s missing ten minutes of his life,” Holly Jo added.

Bianca looked into the bathroom. “I’ve got an idea. You move him in there—I’ll pack up the gear.” She removed the cap from Zykov’s head.

Adam took hold of the blank-eyed Russian and dragged him from the bed. “Always the same. The man has to lift heavy stuff while the woman does nothing.”

“I hope that was Zykov saying that and not you,” Bianca chided, unplugging the cables and powering down the PERSONA.

Adam towed Zykov to the bathroom and maneuvered him through the doorway. By the time he had pulled him inside, Bianca had packed everything up—except for the injector of Mnemexal. “Okay,” she said, joining him. “See where I spilled the champagne?” She indicated the splash. “I’ll yell for help, and when the bodyguards turn up I’ll say he slipped on it and hit his head.”

“Good thinking. Help me turn him over.” They rolled Zykov onto his front. Adam regarded him for a moment—then took hold of him by the hair and slammed him face-first against the tiles.

Bianca gasped in shock. “What are you doing?”

“Making it convincing.” He lifted Zykov’s head to reveal a bloodied mark on his forehead. The Russian moaned softly. “He’ll believe that headache. Now give him the injection.”

She had at least remembered what Albion had told her about the dosages and effects of this particular drug. “This should be enough to wipe everything as far back as coming into the bathroom.”

“If he loses more, it doesn’t matter. As long as he doesn’t remember seeing me.”

Bianca administered the drug. She passed the injector to Adam. “Probably not a good idea to leave this lying around.”

“I’ll put it in the case.” He went back into the bedroom.

“How are you going to get out?”

“I’ll hide on the balcony. As soon as they’re both in here dealing with you and Zykov, I’ll go into the lounge through the other door and just walk out.”

“Easy as that, eh?”

“Hopefully.” He picked up both pieces of baggage and
went to the balcony door. “Okay. Get out as soon as you can.”

She gave him a pained smile. “Oh, I will!”

He grinned back, the almost lustful way he bared his teeth unsettlingly redolent of Zykov, then went out onto the balcony. Bianca turned her attention back to the unconscious man, watching him intently for signs of recovery.

Adam crouched with his back against the glass at the corner of the bedroom. “The lounge is clear, Adam,” Holly Jo told him. “You could get to the front door now.”

“I don’t want to risk it,” he replied. “Not until I know where Bragin and Konev are.”

“Who? Oh, the bodyguards.”

“If we’d upgraded the UAV with a microwave radar like I suggested,” added Kyle, “we could see right through the walls and know exactly where they are. Be useful, huh?”

“I’ll bear it in mind at the next procurement meeting,” said Tony drily. “Adam, are you sure you want to wait?”

“If they see me, I’ll have to kill them. Not good for our cover.” He already had the gun in his hand, ready for the worst-case scenario.

“Point taken. Just be careful, then.”

Adam listened for sounds of activity through the glass. When Bianca raised the alarm, the bodyguards would run to the bathroom to help their boss—leaving the way clear for him to head for the exit.

In theory. He squeezed the gun’s grip more tightly …

Bianca’s heels clattered on the tiled floor. He tensed, ready to move. A shrill cry from the bathroom, then: “Oh my God! Hey, help! Help me!”

“They’re coming,” warned Holly Jo. “One guy—no, they’re both coming. Hold on.”

Bianca was still putting on a performance. “It’s Ruslan, in the bathroom! We were in there, and—he slipped and hit his head! He’s hurt, you’ve got to help him!”

He heard the bedroom door open, hurried footsteps. “They’re both going into the bathroom,” Holly Jo continued. “Wait, wait … okay, their backs are to you.
Go!”

Adam rose to his feet and strode along the balcony. He opened the glass door and slipped through into the lounge, silently closing it behind him. Without looking back, he headed for the exit. He emerged in the lobby. The concierge gave him a strange look, not recognizing him …

“Privet, kak pozhivaeteg?”
Adam said cheerily. The concierge blinked, uncomprehending. “The boss’s date, she is leaving.” He held up his baggage. “I take these downstairs for her, yeah?”

The man nodded. “Would you like me to order a taxi?”

“No, no, is fine.” He went to the elevators, pushing the call button. One of the sets of doors opened. He entered. “Okay, I’m in the elevator,” he announced as it started to descend. “Where’s Bianca?”

She was helping the two bodyguards carry their boss to his bed. “Ruslan, are you okay?”

Zykov put a hand to his head, wincing. “What happened?”

“You slipped on the champagne,” she said. “You hit the floor really hard—I was worried, I think you were knocked out. You should go to hospital.”

“No, no, I …” He sat on the bed and looked at his hand, seeing a small amount of blood. “Oh. I don’t … I went into the bathroom, I gave you a drink, and …” He closed his eyes, then his forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I don’t remember.”

“You should definitely see a doctor,” she insisted. “I’ll get the concierge to call someone.”

One of the bodyguards moved as if to block her, but Zykov waved him back. “Yes, do that. I do not feel good.”

“Okay.” She paused at the bedroom door. “I’m sorry the evening had to end this way. It’s certainly been a very interesting night.”