Alex Scarrow - City of Shadows

If Cooper had gone with that cover story, this car park would have been crawling with news-station broadcast vans and reporters doing pieces to camera. Instead, a simple ‘armed robbery gone wrong’ story didn’t have the same pulling power right now. They had the mall to themselves for a day or two. A crime scene: every entrance taped off and guarded by a uniformed officer.

‘We got CCTV coverage of most of the incident.’

‘That’s all been confiscated?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cooper had already seen some of it. Digitally copied and enhanced to make it a little clearer. There was no mistaking the fact that the two armed people, one man and one woman, had been hit several times in the opening crossfire. And yet they’d walked on as if nothing had happened, leaving an easy-to-follow trail of blood droplets in their wake.

Cooper looked up at the escalator, one glass side of it shattered. Then at the railing running round the horseshoe-shaped balcony of the floor above. A twenty-foot drop down to where they were now standing.

Incredible.

‘The female really jumped down from up there?’

‘That’s what the eyewitnesses said.’

‘They’ll need to be informed they were mistaken, or that the woman shattered her legs and spine on impact.’

‘They saw her get up and take several steps.’

Cooper looked at Agent Mallard, one of the few FBI agents his limited budget allowed him to deputize into The Department. Mallard was young, eager to impress. Ready to do as he was told. ‘That’s what they thought they saw, Mallard. Do you understand? What they thought they saw in the heat of the moment. The mind plays tricks on what you think you’ve seen in a situation like this.’

‘Right, yes… sir.’

‘The male one?’

‘Preliminary autopsy’s already been done.’

‘And?’

Mallard hesitated. ‘The report says he sustained thirty-seven separate gunshot wounds.’

‘Thirty-seven?’

‘Yes, sir. The police officers who were interviewed said they only managed to bring him down after four or five successful head shots.’

Cooper kept his face impassive, his response measured. This wasn’t the place for outbursts of incredulity. He also needed to be sure his new recruit fully understood the situation. ‘Mallard?’

‘Sir?’

‘You’re going to see some things, learn things that — I’ll be frank with you — most Presidents don’t even get to know about. You understand, once you’re in The Department, you’re in it for good?’

‘That was made clear to me, sir.’

‘Good. Now… take me to where they’re holding the other one, the female. I want to talk with her directly.’

12 September 2001, Interstate 90, Newton, Massachusetts

The rest of the drive up to Boston had been quiet. Liam, Maddy and Sal all silent with their own thoughts. The two support units sat perfectly still; Bob was busy as he drove, sorting through packets of code and prioritizing the most useful bits to upload to Becks. She sat in the back, still as a shop mannequin, as she digested the code floating back to her. Rashim gazed out of the window at more of a world he’d only ever seen in video-film files, while SpongeBubba chirped exclamations full of childlike wonder every now and then.

So very much like a child with that squeaky voice and slight lisp…

Look, skippa! A RED car!

Hey! That man’s re-eally fat!

Maddy wondered why Rashim would deliberately choose to hack his robot’s code to be so grating. But that was it, wasn’t it? The faults, the irritating traits and annoying behavioural ticks, the imperfections and phobias… it’s those things that make us human. That’s why he made his lab unit so irritating. Less of a soulless machine.

Perfection on the other hand…? Cool, detached, emotionless perfection. Like those two killer meatbots relentlessly pursuing them. That’s what sociopaths were, weren’t they? At least in their own minds — without weakness, without imperfections.

Just after midday they checked into another motel; it was as generic and nondescript as the last one had been. But at least this was one in her hometown. Boston. Maddy felt a little more secure. The suburb Arlington, where her folks lived, was actually only about five or six miles away as the crow flies.

She was so nearly home.

‘Isn’t this a bit dangerous?’ said Liam, flicking through the channels on the room’s TV set. ‘I mean… well, might they not guess you’ll come here?’

He’d said ‘they’ like They. Them: the sort of language a tinfoil-hat-wearing, paranoid conspiracy nut would use.

‘We’re nearly out of money, Liam. And, even if the account had more money in it, what if someone’s tracking the card when we use an ATM?’ It could be done, a bank account flagged and used to track a person’s movements. ‘We need some help. In case you haven’t noticed, our little organization isn’t doing so good.’

‘But come on, going to your parents ’ house?’

‘They can help us out! My mom and dad, once I’ve explained who I am, they’ll help us out.’

‘Once you’ve explained who you are?’ He cocked a brow. ‘Listen to yourself. That’ll take some explaining, so it will, Maddy.’

She could already imagine the expression on her mom’s face. A squint of suspicion at the strange teenage girl on her doorstep gabbling about time travel. Then probably fear. Perhaps Mom would try slamming the front door on her and calling the police. But then Maddy could tell her and Dad some things that were about to happen. She could tell them that President Bush was soon to make his infamous ‘Axis of Evil’ speech. That very soon they were going to start pointing the finger of blame at Saddam Hussein in Iraq. Or aim for something closer to home.

She tried to think of their family life directly after 9/11. But she couldn’t remember anything specific that was due to happen at home over the next few days. They’d lost Julian in the north tower, their nephew, her cousin. It would be a household fogged with grief right now. No wonder she couldn’t recall anything specific. She was nine, then — now. Her younger version would be a confused and frightened little girl, believing Fox News that a Big War was coming. That more planes could suddenly start dropping out of the sky. No wonder Maddy couldn’t pull any useful memory out of her head from the immediate aftermath. It was just one big fog of news stations repeating the same things, of fear and paranoia and rumours.

She decided she’d pick something from before 9/11 to tell her parents, something only their very own daughter would know. And yes, there’d be herself — her younger self — right there to confirm that she was telling the truth, that she was their daughter from the future. She could pick something like her favourite toy’s name, her favourite TV show, her favourite clothes, her favourite…

Maddy realized she couldn’t recall any of those things.

Not a single thing.

‘Liam’s right,’ said Sal. ‘Maybe visiting them isn’t a good idea.’

Maybe. Maddy watched channels flash by on the screen. Maybe the other two were right. But they couldn’t stay here in these two motel rooms forever.

Liam yawned. She felt tired too. She needed some time alone to get her head right.

‘Let’s get some rest,’ she said finally. ‘We’ve all had a bad few days and we’re none of us thinking straight here.’

‘That is sensible,’ said Bob. ‘Becks and I can stand watch while you sleep.’

‘You boys can have the other room,’ said Maddy. Rashim nodded and got up. Liam tossed the TV remote to Sal, and Bob opened the door for them.

‘Let’s meet for dinner. We’ll work out what we do next then.’