‘I was wondering if Eddie knows anything about the whereabouts of this kid who was involved in the breakout,’ she said. ‘And who his client might be. If he has a client. If the story isn’t a weird practical joke.’
‘Eddie lacks the imagination for that kind of thing,’ Rosa said. ‘Fast Eddie, we used to call him. Always on the make, always on the take. This was before you came on the scene, dear. While the UN quarantine was still in force. Everyone in the artefact business was chasing specimens that leaked back to Earth via diplomatic pouches, clandestine loads smuggled amongst licensed material by companies and criminals, souvenirs brought back by UN personnel…Eddie knew how to make the most of his contacts, but he lacked common sense and got himself into trouble with the police several times. He thought he was cleverer than he was and cut too many corners. Went down for it, eventually.’
‘I know he did six months in Wandsworth,’ Chloe said. ‘He used to boast about it, like it was a badge of honour. He still comes in here, doesn’t he?’
‘He has a stall in the Sunday market,’ Rosa said. ‘But I haven’t seen him for a month or more. Maybe he’s moved out to the Reef, like most of the other traders. The market isn’t what it was. Mostly replicas and fakes, or the cheap stuff the Chinese and Indians are importing by the ton from Tian and Naya Loka. And then there’s all the nonsense from the Human Decency League. They set up a stall by the entrance of the market every Sunday and hand out leaflets with pictures of dead meq addicts. They’re petitioning the council to close the market down, although why they bother I don’t know. It’ll die a natural death soon enough.’
Rosa didn’t have Eddie Ackroyd’s phone number or address, and didn’t know anyone who did — he wasn’t exactly blessed with an abundance of friends — but said that if she saw Eddie she’d tell him that Chloe was looking for him, and would ask around about Eddie’s mysterious client, too.
Chloe’s anxiety had been ratcheted up by Rosa’s mention of the police. She was stupidly aware of every CCTV camera as she headed towards her rendezvous with her friend Gail Ann Jones. They met in a tapas place in King’s Cross. Gail Ann was late, as usual, telling Chloe, ‘I called to say I was held up, but you didn’t answer.’
‘I had to buy a new phone,’ Chloe said.
‘My filthy colleagues have been giving you trouble, I bet. A glass of house white,’ Gail Ann added, as the waiter handed her the menu. ‘You aren’t blonde any more. Good move. That trouser suit really isn’t you, though. Not even you in twenty years.’
‘I borrowed it for the nonsense yesterday. Haven’t had the chance to change.’
‘Your wicked ninja episode. Tell me everything you didn’t tell the TV news. Give me something exclusive, and I promise I’ll have your babies.’
Gail Ann was almost exactly Chloe’s age, pale skin emphasised by her trademark red lipstick, dressed in a boiler suit with a swirling brown paisley pattern, a black denim jacket, cherry-red Doc Martens boots, and a red leather satchel — the exact shade of her lipstick — slung over her shoulder. They’d met when Chloe had joined the LFM wiki’s editorial board; Gail Ann, who’d lost her older brother to the bomb, had been one of the founder members. She was a freelance journalist now, selling articles to the glossies and news sites, running a feed about street fashion.
Chloe said that there hadn’t been any new developments about the thing with the avatar, told Gail Ann about Chief Inspector Nevers’s visit to Disruption Theory and his hint that he had an interest in Fahad Chauhan.
‘So this is a real thing,’ Gail Ann said.
‘It always was.’
‘I mean it’s a real story. A kid on the run, his mind altered by some kind of weird alien artefact. You want to save him from the clutches of Eddie Ackroyd and his mysterious client. And now from the police.’
‘You said that you’d dug up more stuff about Fahad.’
‘About his family. Rather a sad story, actually.’
They ordered half a dozen small plates of food. Gail Ann said that she had a friend who was in the genealogy business. Actually a friend of Noah, her on-again off-again boyfriend.
‘He practically lives in the National Archives, knows how to find his way around old newspaper records and so on. And also has serious google-fu. He found that squib in the trade journal.’
‘Then I owe him one.’
‘I owe him one,’ Gail Ann said. ‘And you owe me.’
‘After I catch up with Fahad, I’ll tell you all about it. Cross my heart. What’s this sad story?’
‘To begin with, Fahad’s mother is dead. It happened about five years ago.’
Chloe thought of the little girl, Rana. She said, ‘Did she die in childbirth?’
‘She died in Uxbridge. A traffic accident, apparently. I expect my friend could find out if you need to know,’ Gail Ann said. ‘About a year later, Fahad’s father was declared bankrupt. And either he lost his job with GlaxoSmithKline or he quit, because he moved to Norfolk.’
‘To a little town, Martham,’ Chloe said.
‘You’ve been doing some digging, too.’
‘I didn’t know about the mother, or the bankruptcy. But I did find out something else. The father, Sahar, went up and out to Mangala.’
‘And you think he came back with some kind of alien artefact.’
‘He didn’t come back. It was a one-way ticket sponsored by a property-development company, and he isn’t on any of the passenger lists of flights back to Earth. I was going to look for Fahad’s mother in Martham. Now I guess I’ll be looking for the people who were taking care of him and his kid sister after his father left. As well as trying to find out what his father was doing there, and his connection with this company. I want you to have this,’ Chloe said, and laid the second new phone on the table. ‘In case I need to call you for backup, or some more of Noah’s friend’s google-fu. My new number’s in it.’
‘Ooh, super-secret spy shit.’
‘The press got into my phone,’ Chloe said. ‘This is just in case they get into yours.’
Gail Ann studied her. ‘This has really got under your skin, hasn’t it?’
‘It did cross my mind that the thing that got into Fahad’s head has also got inside mine,’ Chloe confessed. ‘But how could I tell?’
‘Knowing how you get when you decide to chase after something,’ Gail Ann said, ‘I don’t think that it would make much difference.’
12. Take Me To Your Leader
Mangala | 25 July
Skip said, ‘This guy is something else. Came up eight years ago, but before that spent two years fighting for his right to emigrate. The British authorities claimed that the company that bought his ticket was a front for, quote, “an extensive and ruthlessly violent criminal enterprise run by his family”. McBride took them all the way to the House of Lords and won.’
They were driving to Cal McBride’s house, Vic at the wheel, Skip in the passenger seat, reading the file that Alain had ported to his phone.
Saying, ‘He muscled into the local meq trade, was implicated in exporting the stuff back to the UK. Also murder, kidnapping, extortion, bribery of elected officials…He went down when an investigator posing as a visiting businesswoman got him to agree to smuggle Elder Culture artefacts back to Earth inside finished electronic goods.’
‘What Alain was bitching about,’ Vic said.
‘Yeah. It says here that the prosecutor used the arrest to go through his books, found evidence of money laundering, asked for thirty years concurrent. McBride’s lawyers argued entrapment, bargained the sentence down to five. He served less than two, got out six months ago.’