He trudged up the bank, his boots sinking into the slimy mud, back to the road where Ryumin’s bad fortune had started. The rain would have washed any skid marks away by now, but he knew from the file photos that there hadn’t been any, which struck him as odd. There was, however, the section of kerb that had been chewed away, the sign of a car hitting it at speed and grinding straight over the top. Tracing an imaginary line from the pole to the damaged kerb, he waited for a car to pass before following it into the road, where something caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up, then jogged heavy and wet back to the verge before a truck ran him down. He opened his hand and turned the object over. It was a fragment of broken headlamp glass, clean, sharp and fresh.
Sean’s stomach churned as he watched the passing metropolis through the taxi window. He hadn’t been this nervous in a long time — scared, yes, but not nervous like this. He shifted on the cracked leather, looking but not seeing, his mind distracting his thoughts elsewhere.
He was due to meet an old friend, James Aspen, who was working as editor-in-chief at the Moscow Times. Not only did James have control of the Moscow Times, he was also well loved and respected throughout the industry, and had the potential to be a valuable tipping point in getting the story out. Aleks and the others had offered to come with him, but he was glad he’d refused them. It wasn’t safe in the density of the city with nowhere to hide, but the risk he was running wasn’t what made his stomach turn: it was UV One.
The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous it seemed. An old woman, dead of course, who’d had a UFO encounter, and a young woman, who no one knew or cared about, having the same experience all over again. He knew it was true in his heart, yet he couldn’t douse the rising feeling of doubt in his guts that made him want to tap the driver on the shoulder and ask him to turn the taxi around. He sat back in his seat and dabbed nervous sweat from his cheeks with the back of his sleeve.
When the taxi pulled up outside the Moscow Times building, he checked his watch; he had an hour to kill before the meeting. He paid the driver and got out, crossed the street to a ream of blaring horns, and slipped into a coffee shop. No sooner had he ordered a coffee and sat down when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He had an email from James.
Can you meet me somewhere else? I don’t think it’s best we meet at head office.
James
That was fair enough. Sean tapped out his reply and sent it.
The earthiness of his coffee soothed his nerves as he waited, and when the phone buzzed again, he wasn’t feeling anywhere near as bad.
Great. Meet me at The Beijing Tiger restaurant in ten minutes.
James
Sean looked at his watch; it was half eleven. Taking a last mouthful of coffee, he gathered up his phone and his bag, and left the shop. Ten minutes was enough time to walk to The Beijing Tiger, so he threaded his way through the streets and alleys on foot. He could get a bite to eat while he was there.
Nestled between a fabric shop and a Jewish deli, The Beijing Tiger was a sorry sight. The plastic golden tiger above the sign was as faded and cracked as it had ever been, and the waft of hot sweet-and-sour sauce hit him as soon as he opened the door. The restaurant may have been old, but it was a place he knew well, many a hazy memory gathered under its eaves. The maître d’ bowed his head, and Sean nodded in return. ‘Good afternoon.’
‘Good afternoon, sir. Would you like to eat in or take away?’
‘I’ve got a lunch with James — James Aspen. Is he here?’
‘Yes sir. Come right this way.’
Sean followed the waiter into the bowels of the dark, empty restaurant. It was a strange atmosphere: it wasn’t exactly dingy, but this was no family eatery. In the corner, he could just about make out James sat at a table, and he gave him a nod. James looked grim.
‘Hi, James, how are you doing?’ Sean said, shaking his hand as he rose to greet him.
‘I’m good, Sean, I’m good,’ James said, although his usually friendly face was a little ashen. Perhaps it was the light, or lack thereof.
They sat, and the waiter gave Sean a menu, then left them to decide. James already had a menu, but he seemed to be looking through it rather than at it.
‘How have you been?’ Sean said, and James gave a small sideways jerk of his head.
‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘I understand you’ve been getting involved with the US Department of Defence?’
He looked at Sean, his eyes hollow and searching. Sean struggled to read whether they expressed concern, or whether they were admonishing him.
‘That’s right…’ he said, the uncomfortable feeling building in his stomach again. ‘How do you know about that?’
James slapped his menu on the table. ‘Come on, Sean, everyone knows. You’ve practically got a price on your head. What are you doing messing around with high level stuff like this?’
Sean couldn’t believe it. This didn’t seem like the James he knew. Something had spooked him. ‘This is what we do, remember? We investigate, we report, we make public the affairs that concern the people and their future — is that something you’ve forgotten?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘but this is too much. You’ve got to know when to draw the line.’
‘You don’t even know what’s going on here,’ Sean said, struggling to keep his building frustration under control.
James looked him in the eye with a stare that took him aback. There was fear in it. ‘I know what’s going on. The whole board does. I don’t know whether to believe it or not, but frankly, if we are on the brink of some alien invasion, I think the public would do better to be kept in the dark.’
Sean shook his head, flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe it — he’d respected James for a long, long time. The man sat in front of him could’ve been someone else by the way he was acting. ‘You’ve given in too, huh?’
‘Sean, don’t…’
‘Tell me, James,’ Sean said, leaning close and jabbing the table with his finger, ‘what happened to the dignity of professional journalism? Why are you, and everybody else in this damn industry folding like a wet deck of cards?’
James balled his fists, and at first Sean thought he was going to strike, but then he realised he was trying to hold back tears.
‘They said they’d take my family away,’ he whispered. ‘They said they’d take them away if I didn’t do what they told me to do…’
He took a quivering hand and covered his mouth with it as tears began to roll down his cheeks. Sean’s anger washed away in an instant, a cold dread taking its place. ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘What did they want you to do?’
James looked at Sean, his red eyes wide. ‘I’m sorry, Sean…’
The restaurant door crashed open, letting a bright shaft of light into the room that was filled with black-suited bodies.
‘Mikhail? Where are you, Mikhail?’
Sally had scoured the station, but Mikhail was nowhere to be seen. She felt an unnerving panic the longer she looked, and as she scurried from module to module it occurred to her that she hadn’t checked his quarters. He was in there sleeping, but with an agony on his face that frightened her so much she jerked away. He twitched and he contorted; Sally didn’t know what to do.
‘Mikhail?’ she said, but he didn’t respond.
She grasped his shoulder and shook him.
‘Wake up, Mikhail,’ she said a little louder, and he stirred, his pained expression fading. As his eyes came to focus, he looked to her, and smiled.