Engineman Part 20

"And if not?"

Caroline just shook her head. She turned to look at him. "They're connected, aren't they? That Hunter guy and all this. What the h.e.l.l's going on, Ralph?"

He shook his head. "I honestly don't know."

"You aren't telling the truth, Ralph."

Mirren was taken by the sudden need to confide in Caroline; he'd told no-one about what was happening, and he thought that by doing so he might, himself, come to some understanding. He was about to tell Caroline about Hunter's offer when the deafening crump of an explosion devastated the silence.

"Christ, they really mean to finish you off." For the first time, Mirren heard fear in her voice.

She stood and moved to the boarded-up window, prised back a plank and peered through. A lighted shop-front plunged a beam of illumination into their bolt-hole. Caroline crept back to his side. "They've got a guy posted across the street," she reported calmly.

His pulse surged. "They know we're here?"

"I think they've got the whole area staked out." She thought for a second. "Okay, this way." She all but dragged him down an aisle between emptied food racks and old freezer units. They entered a storeroom. Caroline looked around, then crawled through an air-conditioning duct in the far wall. She reached back for Mirren and he sc.r.a.ped himself through head first. She helped him to his feet and he stood, panting. Her expression was grim. "Look," she said.

Mirren could do little else but look. A metre before his eyes was a curving silver surface. It took him seconds to realise that it was the outer membrane of the dome which enclosed the cultural heritage of central Paris, effectively blocking their flight.

Caroline stood with both feet on the curve of the dome, her back braced against the wall. She edged along, foot over foot, came to the end of the building and peered down the street, then returned to Mirren, fast. Her eyes were wide with alarm. "There's about a dozen of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds coming down the street." She banged a heel against the silvered surface of the dome. "I could always blast our way through - but they'd soon find the hole and we'd be trapped in there."

Then she saw the inspection hatch five metres to the left. She moved towards it, feet crossing, and Mirren hurriedly followed. The hatch was an oval doorway set into the base of the dome, secured by a finger-print access lock. Without ceremony, Caroline aimed at the lock mechanism and fired once. The pistol spat and the lock disintegrated. She looked left and right to ensure they were un.o.bserved and hauled the hatch open. She crawled through and Mirren ducked in after her, closing the hatch behind him.

The gap between the outer and inner membrane was less than one metre thick, a confined area of supporting girders and air treatment units. Mirren stood awkwardly, his belly and face pressed against the grime-encrusted plastex. It was suffocatingly hot and pitch black; the inner membrane was darkened in its nighttime phase, and the silver outer membrane admitted no light. Further up, where the artificial starfield began, the backwash of the individual halogens provided erratic illumination. The surface of the inner dome was patterned with regular, indented toe-holds allowing the inspectors and engineers to climb between the two great curving planes.

Caroline clutched his arm. "Up there, Ralph," she ordered. "I'll try to shoot a hole through the inner dome. With luck they'll think we went straight through."

Mirren climbed, finding the indents with difficulty. He pushed his way up, his progress impeded by loose hanks of wiring and the pipes of the air-conditioning which kept the precincts within the dome at a pleasant seventy degrees. He paused when he was a couple of lengths above Caroline and peered down. He could just make out her dark shape, spread-eagled between the planes. He heard two sharp shots. Caroline cursed aloud, tried again. Mirren was thankful that the outer membrane was silvered, so they were un.o.bserved. He wondered how long it would be before the thugs noticed the damaged lock of the hatch.

He looked down, saw Caroline moving towards him up the recessed toe-holds. He felt her hand on his leg. "No good, Ralph. The stuff's reinforced."

"Christ!" Mirren yelled. "We're trapped in here!"

"Just keep climbing."

The confined s.p.a.ce became suddenly claustrophobic. The heat seemed to increase by twenty degrees. "Where to?"

She thumped his legs. "Just let me do the thinking, will you? Climb!"

As he moved further up the inside of the dome, the gap became narrower, as if the planes of reinforced plastex converged at the apex. Each step became an effort, the toe-holds harder to find, and his fingers ached from supporting his weight when his feet slipped. They entered the region of the starfield. Mirren tried to keep his mind from the terrible thought of being discovered like this by identifying the constellations. He calculated in which quarter of the city they were positioned, and the degree of their elevation, and then recalled the star-charts he'd studied years ago. He recognised Arneb in Lepus. Ahead was Rigel in Orion and beyond it Hatysa, a close-packed nebulosity. He recalled a time, fifteen years ago, when he'd vacationed on Brims...o...b.., Rigel II... Then he laughed aloud at the absurdity of his present situation. Behind him, Caroline grunted. "What's so funny, Ralph?"

He called, "I always thought I'd die between the stars..."

She hit the sole of his boot with her fist. "Very funny. Now will you hurry up?"

He climbed. His concentration on the stars was shattered when he heard a sound below him - the opening of a hatch. They'd finally found the shattered lock. He screwed himself round, peered down. Caroline was on her belly, reaching out. To her left, a circular hatch hung open, admitting a shaft of light and affording a view of the rooftops twenty metres below.

"Caroline?"

"Not this one, Ralph. Keep climbing."

As he did so, he noticed the outline of a hatch to his left. They were s.p.a.ced at regular intervals beside the toe-holds, positioned to give access to the cables which connected the ersatz stars. He recalled seeing fliers hovering beneath the dome's inner surface, off-loading replacement parts and tools to mechanics inside. What he'd give for a friendly, pa.s.sing flier right now...

He peered back at Caroline. She'd opened another hatch, letting it swing on its hinges as she poked her head over the side. She looked up at him. "d.a.m.n!"

"Caroline? What the h.e.l.l...?"

"Your flier's somewhere down there, right?"

A light pressure of elation filled his chest at the thought - quickly chased by despair. "But how the h.e.l.l do we get down!" he yelled.

"Leave that to me," Caroline said. "Keep climbing, Ralph. Hurry up!"

Something between desperation and an insane belief in the woman behind him spurred him on. He hauled himself past the imitation stars, his flying suit ripped and soaked in sweat. Below, he heard Caroline trying the hatches one by one.

Then he heard an animal cry, as if from far away, and the first tracer illuminated the gloom like orange lightning. He was thankful they that they were high enough to be out of sight of their pursuers, and the curve of the dome made a direct shot impossible. Then more orange tracer lit the darkness. More shouts as more thugs entered the inspection hatch and gave chase. Caroline cried out, "Ralph, stop!"

He'd already done so, in fright and desperation. He clung to the indents, awaiting the coup de grace coup de grace as tracer and bullets filled the s.p.a.ce with light and a ceaseless, deafening rattle. He turned his head as Caroline called to him again. She was no longer below him on the track of toe-holds. He caught sight of her to the right, clinging onto the rim of an open hatch and peering through. Her expression, illuminated from below, was joyous. as tracer and bullets filled the s.p.a.ce with light and a ceaseless, deafening rattle. He turned his head as Caroline called to him again. She was no longer below him on the track of toe-holds. He caught sight of her to the right, clinging onto the rim of an open hatch and peering through. Her expression, illuminated from below, was joyous.

"Ralph!" she shouted.

He backtracked, edged down indent by indent, until he was beside her. He reached out, gripped the edge of the hatch and hauled himself across to her. The yells of their pursuers echoed in the confines.

Caroline stared into his eyes. "Jump, Ralph!" she cried. "Jump!"

Central Paris waited forty metres below.

"I'll kill myself!" he screamed.

She laughed. "Look, Ralph. Look straight down!"

Mirren hauled himself to the rim and peered over. His heart almost missed a beat. They were directly above the inflated mylar bubble of the Gastrodome.

"Jump! Your flier's down there somewhere. I'll cover you."

He manoeuvred himself so that his legs hung through the hatch.

Caroline turned onto her back and loosed off a fusillade of fire down the incline. "For chrissake, jump!"

She scrambled up beside him and hung her legs through the gap. Mirren looked at her. "What about you?"

She smiled, reached out and pushed him.

He plummeted feet first with a sudden cry of alarm.

He was aware of the cool rush of the air after the gla.s.shouse humidity, and the sudden noise of traffic. He was falling belly first, spread-eagled. The great bauble of the Gastrodome accelerated towards him, its size increasing by the second. He steeled himself for the impact and when it came, taking him by surprise, it was like hitting the slack membrane of a trampoline. The mylar surface gave, accepting him, and he rolled over and over in a constant, moving depression down the side of the dome. He saw brief flashes of amazed expressions on the faces of the diners inside, then longer glimpses of the starfield above.

He fell the last five metres as the curve of the dome became sheer, landing on his knees in the tilled soil of an extraterrestrial flower exhibition.

He looked up. Caroline had jumped and was rolling down the dome. Seconds later she landed awkwardly beside him with a pained curse. She picked herself up, grabbed Mirren and sprinted through a dense plantation of miniature trees. Overhead, the thugs jumped from the inspection hatch one by one, like paratroopers tumbling from a plane. The first thug landed, perhaps thirty metres away, righted himself and looked around. Caroline dragged Mirren after her as they tore through the undergrowth.

They were on the periphery of the alien garden surrounding the Gastrodome. Before them was the iron fencing which separated the garden from a lighted avenue. Across the avenue was a possible way of escape: the darkened entrance of an alley between two tall buildings. Caroline vaulted the fence and Mirren followed, startling a group of pa.s.sing tourists, and sprinted across the street and into the alley. As he ran after Caroline down the cobbled thoroughfare he realised he was limping. As they came to the end of the alley and paused before continuing into the busy street, he worried that their physical appearance might soon attract attention. Caroline's jacket and leggings and his flying suit were ripped and stained with mud and leaf mould.

"Where to now?" Caroline hissed, looking back along the thoroughfare. "Where's your flier?"

"This way."

They plunged into the crowded sidewalk, attracting stares and comments from pa.s.sers-by. At the thought that the thugs might have posted lookouts, Mirren broke into a run.

They slowed as they pa.s.sed the imposing facade of the Nationale Bibliotheque Nationale Bibliotheque. They turned the corner into a deserted street. His flier was where he'd left it. He looked up and down the sidewalk. There was no one in sight. The hatch swung open on identifying his palm-print and Caroline scrambled inside. Mirren slumped into the driving seat, slammed the hatch shut and keyed the command to opaque the windows. The sense of relief filled him with an insane, light-headed elation.

Caroline sat with her head against the rest, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

Mirren gained his breath, adrenalised with a mixture of joy at having survived so far and a retrospective dread at how close they had been to death. The physical strain of the last hour was catching up with him, creating cramps in his legs and a stabbing pain in his solar plexus.

Caroline turned in her seat. Tears streaked her cheeks. She embraced Mirren, and he held her to him, feeling her warmth. They embraced for what seemed an age, silent in the aftermath of the chase.

"Where are you staying?" he whispered at last.

"The Excelsior, St Etienne. Come back with me. I don't know what's going on, but you can't go back to your own apartment-"

"I need to warn Dan and the others."

She stared at him with wide eyes. "Ralph, what's happening? You know, don't you?"

"I suspect," he answered. He hesitated. "Hunter wants us to push a 'ship. Me and my team. I suppose those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds - or rather the people who hired them - don't want us to succeed."

Caroline was shaking her head. "So that's why..." she began. "I never had any chance against the flux, did I?"

Mirren felt emotion welling in his chest. He wanted to tell her not to blame him, that his motivations were no longer in his control, that he was craving the flux and would stop at nothing to get it. More than that he wanted to tell her not to make him choose between her and the flux.

"Take me to the Excelsior, Ralph."

She sat rigid and stared straight ahead.

Mirren fired the engines, crawled his flier from the kerb and along the street at walking pace, heading for the nearest vehicle exit.

Even at this early hour of the morning, there was still a line of vehicles, roadsters and fliers, waiting to be checked out. To his relief he saw no loiterers around the arched exit - just a bored gendarme perfunctorily glancing at proffered ident.i.ty cards. When his turn arrived, Mirren showed his card and the official waved him through. He accelerated from the dome and into the skies of Paris, forced back into his seat with the thrust of his ascent.

He banked the flier into the western aerial lane, heading for St Etienne. They made the journey in silence; Mirren could not find the words to explain, to excuse himself. His inability to plead his case increased as the silence lengthened. He sighted the Excelsior hotel and decelerated, coming to rest gently on the landing stage. He thought Caroline intended to climb out without saying a word. She opened the pa.s.senger hatch, turned to him and said, "Ralph, go to the police, okay? You needn't tell them about the 'ship, just the attack. They'll give you protection. Failing that, I can give you the name of a private security firm.

"I'll go to the police," he lied.

Caroline smiled sadly. "I meant what I said earlier, about us. Even if it's only friendship..."

Mirren nodded.

"Take care, Ralph."

He watched her climb from the flier and run across the roof to the downchute cupola. He found himself sitting, gripping the wheel, wishing that he'd told her that the last thing he had wanted was to cause her pain. He stirred himself, engaged the vertical thrusters and banked rapidly away from the hotel, the lights of St Etienne falling away beneath him.

He headed north east, a sudden lethargy sweeping over him. At one point he caught himself considering making for his apartment... Then he knew that Caroline was right: he couldn't go back there. The thugs would surely have the block under surveillance on the off-chance that he was fool enough to return.

He brought his flier down in a lighted district a kilometre from Dan's Agency. He parked in the street next to a public vid-screen, climbed out and stepped into the booth. He keyed in Dan's code and waited as the call rang out, sensitive to the fact of every wasted second.

A minute, then two, pa.s.sed without reply. He tried Dan's mobile, but again there was no answer. He stared at his flier, then along the empty street. He left the booth and made his way towards the Rue Bresson on foot, his pace increasing as he thought of Dan and the events of the night. He would wait in the street until Dan returned from wherever he was, and hope against hope that the thugs had not turned their attentions to the detective.

He turned onto a tree-lined boulevard and crossed the street diagonally, heading for the Rue Bresson two blocks further on. He was leaving a well-lighted district for the run-down area of Bondy. As he stepped onto the sidewalk beneath a line of linden trees, he was suddenly aware of footsteps behind him. He closed his eyes. He knew he'd been a fool. To survive death as he had, only to walk into it quietly on a darkened street...

It began to rain, a fine, tropical drizzle. He increased his pace. He was being paranoid, perhaps - the events of the past few hours lending him to easy fright. He chanced a glance over his shoulder. A rain-coated figure trailed him by a matter of metres.

He began to run. "Mirren!" his pursuer called. He heard footsteps, closing in on him. He turned and lashed out, and the figure launched itself at him and bundled him to the ground. His a.s.sailant drew something from his pocket and applied it to Mirren's chest, and he felt an electric jolt lance through his entire body.

He had no idea how long he was out. When he came to his senses he was still on the sidewalk, his mind a confusion of chaotic thoughts. Why had his pursuer not killed him on the spot? Unless he planned to torture him for information he thought he possessed... But why, then, had they tried to kill him earlier?

A roadster drew up, its tyres zipping on the wet road. A rear door swung open and his a.s.sailant bundled him inside. The door slammed shut. Mirren made out a dark figure in the rear seat beside him as the vehicle started up and drove off at speed.

Chapter Seventeen.

The Mercedes raced through the rain-slicked Paris streets.

When Dan released him from the painful bear-hug, Mirren sank back into the padded upholstery and closed his eyes, disbelief and relief sweeping through him. He laughed aloud. "Christ, Dan. If you only knew what I've been through..."

"You? Fernandez, Ralph! What about me?"

"They came after you?"

Dan nodded. "But thanks to these gentlemen..." He indicated the two men in the front of the car. Mirren recognised Hunter's bodyguards. "They got me out minutes before my place was trashed by an air-to-ground missile." Dan hesitated. "You heard about the others?"

Mirren stared at him, shaking his head.

"Jan was shot dead last night. They fixed Caspar's flier sometime yesterday. He didn't stand a chance. They got Christiana the same way a couple of days ago."

Mirren watched the buildings blur by outside.

"How the h.e.l.l did you get away from the Blue Shift?" Dan asked.

"You heard about it?"

"Heard about it? It was all over Paris in minutes. A vid-cast gave your description. I thought they'd got you."

Something caught in Mirren's throat. "I was with a security guard from Orly. I wouldn't have made it without her."