Part 20 (1/2)

Lom's heart was pounding. He smeared a greasy hand across his face, rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn. There was a tiny sleeping compartment at the back of the cabin. The truck driver was in there, hidden under a blanket, trussed up with a rope, his own sock stuffed into his mouth.

The guard came back and handed Lom the signed-off papers. He looked disappointed.

Lom had wanted to come in late to avoid other drivers and catch the night-s.h.i.+ft security: less chance they'd know the regular drivers by sight, that was the calculation. He hadn't reckoned on a guard who was bored and looking for trouble.

'What was the trouble with the brakes?' the guard said, still reluctant to let him go.

'Hydraulics leak,' said Lom. 'I patched it up. It should hold till I get back.'

He knew nothing about trucks and hoped the guard didn't either.

Please don't look in the cab.

The guard signalled to the kiosk and the first barrier lifted.

'OK,' he said. 'Bay Five. Follow the signs. Check-in won't open till six but you can park there, and if you walk over towards the liquid oxygen generators there's a twenty-four-hour rest room for the duty maintenance. You might be able to get something to eat there. Maybe someone'll look at those hydraulics for you.'

Lom nodded. 'Thanks. Appreciate that.'

The gates of Bay Five were closed. No one was about. Beyond the chain-link fence was a row of dark containerless cabs. Lom checked on the driver. The man glared back at him with hot, frightened angry eyes. He pulled against the ropes and grunted through the sock in his mouth.

Lom hauled him up and propped him in a sitting position.

'Someone will find you,' he said, 'but not before morning. Don't try to call out; you'll make yourself throw up and that'll be very bad for you. You'll choke on it. Sit tight and wait.'

The man grunted again. It sounded like a curse.

Lom left the truck on the unlit ap.r.o.n in front of Bay Five, locked it and dropped the keys through a drainage grating. He reckoned he had seven hours before anyone would investigate. Maybe another half-hour before the alarm was raised.

So what the f.u.c.k do I do now?

He shouldered his bag and walked. The gun he'd taken from the VKBD man in Pir-Anghelsky Park was a comforting weight in his pocket.

He wandered among vast hangars and metal sheds. Chemical processing plants. Yards stacked with enormous pieces of shaped steel: curved components for even larger constructions. There was a river running thick and green under lamplight and a poisonous-looking artificial lake: scarfs of mist trailed across the surface and the acrid rising air warmed his face. Klaxons blared and gangs of workers in overalls changed s.h.i.+ft. Parallel Sector patrols cruised the main roads in unmarked black saloons. It was easy to see them coming: he stepped into the shadows to let them pa.s.s.

For an hour he walked steadily, keeping to one direction as far as he could: east, he thought, though there was no way of telling. Vaporous effluent columns from a thousand vents and chimneys merged overhead in a low dense lid of cloud that shut out the night sky and reflected Vitigorsk's baleful orange glow.

A cl.u.s.ter of signs at an intersection pointed to meaningless numbered sectors but one caught his attention: prototypea.s.sembly. Cresting a low hill, he found himself looking out across a floodlit concrete plain. From the centre rose a huge citadel of steel capped with a rounded dome. It resembled a ma.s.sively engorged grain silo with stubby fins at the base. The trucks parked at the foot of it gave some sense of scale: if it had been a building, it would have been twenty or thirty floors high. Lom had seen pictures of the Proof of Concepteveryone hadand this thing was the same but much larger: a parent to a child.

From the cover of a low wall he took a couple of photographs just for the sake of ithe couldn't see what use Kistler could make of them, even if the facility was being kept secret from the Central Committeeand slipped away.

He glanced at his watch.

Almost 1 a.m.

He felt like he was playing at espionage.

What he needed was someone to talk to. Human intelligence.

PROJECT CONTROL. INSt.i.tUTE OF RESEARCH. RESIDENTIAL CAMPUS.

It was a labyrinth of office blocks and apartment buildings, all crammed in and pressing against one another cheek by jowl: ramps and bollards and courtyards, walkways and flights of shallow concrete steps. Sc.r.a.ppy shrubs in concrete containers. Unlit ground-floor windows, service roads and areas of broken paving. A yard for refuse bins. Lom could see into uncurtained corridors. A few lights still burned in upper rooms.

Steps led up from a square with benches and flower beds to a revolving door. He heard voices, hushed but urgent. A couple standing in the splash of yellow light at the foot of the steps, arguing.

'No, Sergei. Please. I have to go now. I must go in.'

The woman was young. Slight and not tall, with cropped hair. Neat, sober office clothes. The man was bigger, older. Aggressive. Standing too close.

'Why not, Mikkala? What's wrong with me?'

'Nothing's wrong with you, Sergei. It's just... It's late. I have to go.'

He grabbed her arm. 'Come on, Mikkala,' he said. 'You'll like it. I'm good. I'm the best.'

She pulled her arm away and stepped back. 'I said no.'

'You f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h. All evening you've been... What's a man supposed to think? You can't just turn round and say no, you cold f.u.c.king...' He reached out and pulled her towards him. Moved his head to hers. She turned her face away.

'Please, Sergei.'

Lom stepped out of the shadows.

'Hey,' he said. 'What's happening? Is this man bothering you?'

Sergei turned. 'Who the f.u.c.k are you?' He was swaying on his feet. Squinting. Lom smelled the aquavit thick on his breath.

'You should leave her alone,' said Lom.

'It's nothing to do with you, a.r.s.ehole. p.i.s.s off. I'll break your f.u.c.king neck.'

Lom ignored him. 'Is this where you live?' he said to the woman. 'Come with me. I'll take you inside.'

'I said p.i.s.s off, f.u.c.k-pig,' Sergei growled. 'You can't push me around.'

'Sergei,' said the woman. 'Don't.'

Sergei made a shambling lunge and swung a fist at Lom. He was big but soft and clumsy, and there wasn't much speed or power in the punch. Lom could have stepped out of the way. But he didn't. He raised his arm awkwardly as if to ward off the blow but he let it through. Turned his head slightly to take it on the side of the nose.

It hurt. A lot. He rocked back and put his hands to his face. Felt the warm blood flooding from his nostrils.

'You hit me!' he said to Sergei. 'I'm bleeding.'

'You were lucky, pig. Next time I'll break your f.u.c.king spine. And yours, b.i.t.c.h. I'll see you again. I'll ruin your f.u.c.king career. I'll ruin your life. People will listen to me.'