He slipped up to the third floor like a shadow.
Samantha had been exhausted by everything that had happened the day before. First the phone calls from her friends, then that incredible conversation at the Stanton, and finally the dinner at Ryan’s. It had drained her completely. She had actually dozed off still fully clothed, toothbrush in hand.
She didn’t even flinch as the stranger opened the door to her flat and slipped inside, closing it silently and securely behind him.
He moved swiftly and with deadly purpose. Within seconds, he was standing over her bed, where she lay in a deep sleep. He smiled with utter confidence as his gloved hand reached into the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a square white cloth folded double. It was already soaked with a foul-smelling liquid.
The stranger snapped it over her mouth so swiftly, so securely, she scarcely had time to react. Her first panic-stricken intake of breath pulled the foul smell into her lungs. It was already too late.
Samantha tried to resist, but the strength of his hand was simply too much. In the space of five heartbeats she fell back onto the bedcovers, unconscious. A moment later the stranger pulled a circular bit of plastic from his pocket-a medication induction patch, standard issue in every hospital across Europe-and slapped it onto the side of her neck.
Samantha would be ready to answer any question he asked within five minutes.
He would be gone in ten.
OXFORD, ENGLAND
Simon's Apartment
Simon was so exhausted he almost fell asleep in Jonathan’s car on the way back to his flat, and he had to rouse himself as Jonathan pulled into his driveway and let him out.
“Tomorrow,” he said, and Jonathan agreed, clearly as beat as Simon himself. His old friend had backed the car down the driveway and off into the night before Simon had made it to the entrance.
He took a moment to breathe in the clean, cool pre-dawn air. The rain had passed, at least for the moment, and though he was weary beyond belief, he felt strangely calm.
It had been a good meeting. Now he had a plan, crazy as it was. And a team of people he could trust. And…
And there was something wrong here.
The first hint came as he entered the lobby of his apartment. The regular greeting at the door was silent, which was highly unusual. The attendant was not there. He looked around as he started to walk upstairs, but nothing else seemed out of the ordinary until he reached his own front door.
There was light shining around its edges-far too much light.
His front door was ajar by half an inch.
“What the…” he mumbled. He pushed the door open completely and rushed in.
The living room was an utter mess. I’ve been burglarized, he thought as he stopped and surveyed the damage. But then he noticed that his antiques, though upset or rearranged, were still in the room, and many of his collectibles were actually still in their places. How can the place be such a mess, he wondered, if nothing was taken?
He walked over piles of books lying on the floor and called out. “Fae? What happened?”
Silence.
“Fae? What the hell…?”
He stopped by the end table next to his favorite chair and tapped the holo-display, trying to bring it to life. It sprang up without difficulty, and he accessed the icon that should have brought his household AI to the forefront…
…but the icon shivered to digital dust at the touch of his fingers. He tried to recover it; he checked his archives and backups.
It was useless. Fae, who had served as his loyal assistant for more than five years, had been thoroughly fried.
He gaped at the display for five heartbeats, trying to understand what had happened. Then he looked at the ceiling, thinking about his library upstairs. “Damn it,” he said and dashed to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.
The library was destroyed: artwork, charts, data plaques, and discs were scattered all over the floor. Every cabinet had been emptied, every drawer overturned; every one of his books had been thrown off the shelves.
“Who would do this?” he said out loud. “Who-”
He suddenly grew stone cold.
“Jake,” he said.
He turned to the hallway door and dashed back into the hall.
“Jake!” He ran back downstairs shouting, “Jake, Jake! Come on boy, where are you?”
He checked under the tables, behind the sofa, trying not to shake as his body went cold. “Jake, come on boy!” He even pushed at the furniture that was far too small for Jake to hide under, desperate for a clue. Finally, he rushed to the bathroom, the last door he hadn’t opened. He almost broke the handle in his frantic rush to get inside.
The door flew open and slammed against the wall, revealing Jake, dazed and tied up on the floor, wrapped in tight silvery loops of duct tape.
Simon fell to his knees and put his arms around the Great Dane, impossibly grateful the dog was still alive. “Jesus, who the hell would do this to you?” he said as he pried at the bonds.
Jake whined as Simon gently opened the duct tape around the dog’s muzzle. Anger swelled in him, but he forced himself to keep his voice low and comforting as he kissed the dog and murmured in its ear. “It’s okay, boy,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay.”
He checked every inch of the room and pulled the tape away from the animal’s paws. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; nothing revealed who had broken into his home or what they were looking for.
With the last of the tape pulled away, Simon stood and dashed out of the bathroom, determined to continue his search. Jake grumbled and struggled to compose his clumsy limbs, equally determined to follow his master as he always did.
Simon went through the whole apartment a second time, this time with even greater attention, but he could find nothing missing. After twenty minutes, he flopped down on the sofa in frustration and buried his head in his hands. Who would do this? he asked himself again, trying to quell his rising anger and failing miserably. Why?
Jake tottered into the room, his doggy expression made up of equal parts shame and curiosity. “Hey, buddy,” Simon told him. “Do you know who got in here?” Jake tilted his head and opened his warm brown eyes even wider than usual. Simon was suddenly happier than ever that his companion hadn’t been hurt…or worse. He patted the cushion next to him and said, “Come on over here, you big potato. Come on.”
Jake didn’t climb onto the couch. He just lumbered across the room, put his massive head in his master’s lap, and gave him a huge sigh, long and deep. Simon stroked the short, dense fur on the crown of Jake’s head and said, “It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. I knew you were never much of a guard dog.”
He looked blindly at the chaos around him and tried to make sense of it. It couldn’t be a straight and simple break-in; nothing of any value had been taken. It wasn’t simple vandalism, either; everything had been tossed around, but nothing had been broken or defaced. Jake cocked an eye at him, as if to say I agree. Simon watched as the wounded dog lifted his head and turned away, moving slowly and a little painfully out of the room and into the kitchen. Clearly, he hadn’t fully recovered from being tied up for hours; he was looking for something to eat and drink.
Simon rose and walked behind him. “I know you’re sore, Jake. Let me get you-”
The realization stopped him cold. It was so obvious: they were looking for something. It wasn’t burglary or vandalism-it was a search. That’s why they had killed the AI. That’s why they had overturned every single drawer.