Part 52 (1/2)
There were voices in Suzanne's head, howling self-accusation. She was a neuropsych therapist and supposedly good at her job. It would not have taken expert verbal technique to short-circuit Josh's reaction, then lead him into a psychological s.p.a.ce where he could grieve as he needed to.
Ou es tu, Josh?
When her thoughts reverted to her native French, she was in trouble.
Calme-toi.
She needed to breathe, to calm down. There must be some way she could help Josh.
Call Tony.
She paused, thinking it through. Tony Gore had helped during last year's infiltration of the Knife Edge final. If the authorities were targetting her for surveillance... but she was not engaged in illegal activities now, and neither was Josh. She needed to make that call.
When she picked up the phone it showed a message waiting, but the pane read Message from: Adam Message from: Adam. She minimized it.
”Call Tony,” she told the phone.
”Which Tony, please?”
Merde.
”Call Tony Gore, urgent.”While she waited, she pointed the phone at the wallscreen, transferring the display. When Tony appeared, his face was larger than lifesize.
”Suzanne. Hey, doll. What's wrong?”
”I don't know for sure that it's bad.”
”But you're ringing me at three in the morning, flagged urgent.”
”It's Josh.... Sophie died today.”
Yesterday, technically. Was it really three a.m.?
”Hang on.” Tony turned to one side. ”Am? Josh's daughter died.”
There a swing of motion, and Amber, Tony's wife, was on screen, rubbing her face.
”Josh? Oh, Suzanne. Awful news. How is he?”
”He's distraught. It's why I needed to talk.”
Amber blinked. As an ex-soldier's wife, she was used to hearing about tragedy and people going off the rails. The image tilted, then Tony was back on.
”What's he done, Suzanne?”
”Ran off into the night in thin clothes. Hours ago. Without his phone.”
”s.h.i.+t.”
Civilian phones were DNA-tagged and GPS-linked, but people like Josh and Tony were not so easily found. Their handsets broadcast subversion code that altered the data inside the surveillance nets. Ordinary police could not have found Josh, even if they tried which they would not, unless Suzanne used her authority to declare him at risk of self-harm.
Irrelevant. Josh had left his phone behind.
”Running is therapeutic,” said Tony.
”It's been five hours.”
Josh might still be running. During Tony's time inthe Regiment, he had been able to run for longer than that. Josh had kept the discipline on leaving the army, that was all.”What about his state of mind?”
”He was on the edge of losing it,” said Suzanne. ”Presenting all the signs. But how that might manifest, I couldn't tell.”
Five hours ago.
”I'll call you back.” Tony's face tightened. ”Try to rest, sweetheart. Our Josh is a survivor.”
”Yes...”
”Out.”
The screen blanked out, as did her thoughts, leaving only feelings: sadness and fear, swirling together, corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g through her body, unnerving her.
The Regiment was not perfect, but they had soldiering skills that others lacked for two reasons: training and resources. They could spend hours firing the latest weapons, using ten thousand euros worth of smartsh.e.l.ls or nanoflechettes in a session. They could slip through enemy forces, because guile was a primary focus of their discipline, along with extreme physicality.
With hands like steel claws, he remained beneath the bridge.
Listen.
No one remained above, no humans, but spyb.a.l.l.s and motion sensors were something else. He had escaped immediate capture; now it was time to evade the enemy.
Police. Not hostiles.
For his own sake, he needed to get clear, to think. Treat it as an exfiltration exercise through enemy territory, provided he remembered not to harm anyone who tried to arrest him. Things were bad enough already.
How could I screw up like that?
The answer was: reflex-fast, no conscious thought involved.
Shut up.
Pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, he stilled his mind.