Déjà Vu: A Technothriller Hocking, Ian (online e book reader .TXT) 📖

your age. You might have a been a well-preserved fifty-year-old. Or a thirty-year-old who really needed to get some sleep.”

“So any time from 1998 to 2013.”

“Give or take.”

Saskia grunted dismissively. “This is all hypothetical anyway. We are going to find your daughter and then I am going to leave.”

David said quietly, “Only to return for me.”

“That is correct.”

They arrived fifteen minutes later. The Valley of Fire lay in a rocky basin about six miles long and four miles wide. They drove into the valley from the east. For the first time, David felt uncertain about their interpretation of the clue. Where could a research centre hide in such a small, public area?

“Should we drive round to the visitor’s centre?” he asked.

Saskia pointed to a large map near the car park entrance. “I think we should examine the map first. Perhaps it will be marked.”

“Are you serious?”

Saskia pointed to her mouth. “Observe the slight muscular twitch. That indicates irony.”

David considered this. He extended his middle finger. “Can you guess what this indicates?”

David sighed. He was getting hotter and the display was becoming difficult to read in the direct sunlight. “Map computer, are there any places that are out-of-bounds?”

“Yes,” said the female voice.

Five seconds later, Saskia snapped, “Where?”

“There is a government meteorological station east of the White Domes. This area is prohibited.”

“What and where are the White Domes?” continued Saskia.

“Welcome to the Valley of Fire,” said the computer, “the oldest State Park in Nevada.” On the map, at the northernmost tip of the park, a red dot pulsed. As they watched, it became a piece of video footage that showed huge, sloping banks of sandstone stained with horizontal ribbons of purple, yellow and blue. “The White Domes area contains a breath-taking arena of coloured stones. The bands you see here were stained by powerful oxides, including iron and manganese –”

“Computer, we want to go there,” David said.

The computer stopped. It remained silent. He wiped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve. He had forgotten, in his dealings with Ego, how obtuse and frustrating computers could be. “Computer, can we go there?”

“Yes.”

“Computer, give me a map.”

“Please insert your card.”

David took Ego from his wallet and examined the edges of the display. Sure enough, there was a magnetic strip reader on the right-hand side. “Ego,” he said, “This is a magnetic strip transaction. Cash. Don’t give it any personal information.”

“Understood,” said Ego.

David swiped it through the slot and heard the answering bleep. He replaced Ego. The computer chimed, “Thank-you, Anonymous Contributor. Car park and camping fee gratefully accepted. The map has been transferred to your personal computer. Enjoy your stay.”

It was a seven-mile drive to the White Domes. The sun climbed higher but the air conditioning kept them cool. The sweat dried on his forehead. Saskia said nothing.

The laser shone on David’s window. A small camera, placed high on the outcrop of the Met Four weather station, collected the invisible reflection. The light was analysed over the next half-hour as the window vibrated in tune with their conversation. The computer converted the vibrations to sound and searched their utterances for key-words. It found none.

They did not see the dusty rooster-tail of a car as it approached from the south. It drove itself. Both of its occupants we quite still. One was reading.

There was only one security laser. It switched to the new arrival. There was nothing to analyse because the passengers said nothing.

Saskia and David saw the car. If the laser had been trained on them, it would have heard David say, “My God, that’s Jennifer. My daughter. Who is she with?” and Saskia’s reply, “That’s Detective Frank Stone. FIB. Based in Moscow. Or so I thought.”

Jennifer shuffled her papers and pushed them into her satchel. She turned to Frank and said, “Are you going to follow me inside?”

“I have to accompany you the entire way. That’s my brief, ma’am,” he said stiffly.

“Well, I hope you have clearance,” Jennifer replied doubtfully.

Frank unfolded his legs and pulled himself from the car. The roof almost reached the belt of his trench coat. Sweat ran from his fingertips but he would not remove the coat. “I have clearance from Hartfield himself. A renegade agent from the FIB is treated seriously.” He waved a blue ID badge. “Level one clearance.”

Jennifer had never seen a level-one clearance. Frank had the key to the city.

“Seems quiet,” he said. He scanned the car park and his eyes fell upon something. He was an eagle on the verge of prey or a hare transfixed. Jennifer could not decide which. Frank needed more sleep. He had flown the Atlantic through the night to reach her. “Jennifer, get back in the car.”

“What?” she said.

“Get back in the car. It’s her.”

“Who?”

“Saskia Brandt.”

Jennifer found it difficult to balance. So Frank’s story was true. The renegade agent wanted to contact her. She had asked on her balcony this morning and she wanted to ask again: for what reason? He would not say.

His hand fell to his hip and she realised why he had been reluctant to remove the trench coat. There was a shape under the cloth.

“I’ll get back in the car,” she said. She turned on her heel and climbed back inside. She stole a glance at Met Four. Would their cameras be trained on the car park? Definitely. But no there were no human eyes behind those cameras. They were computer controlled; a computer would not be sensitive to the precipitation of violence. It could only respond to overtly suspicious behaviour. Jennifer crossed her fingers and sank behind the driver’s wheel. It had never been useful before.

Frank looked back at her. He saw that she was in the car and nodded. He pushed a palm towards her. Stay there. The palm fell back to his hip, to the shape.

Jennifer made a plan. If something happened to Frank, she would run from the car. Perhaps she would make the steps of Met Four. She didn’t know what Brandt wanted from her, but Frank