CHAPTER ONE
click to run
Aveiro, Portugal
Mattie Hawkins never thought she'd see the day where she found herself willing to kill for a bit of fresh air. But there was a city outside, resting under an intense blue sky; below that sky, the water in the surrounding canals mirrored it like dull glass. Thinking about the gentle water that filled the city canals made her thirsty. She'd been trapped inside her hotel room for the past thirty-six hours. And unfortunately, that room did not come with a view.
The thirst was easier to manage, so long as she had a bathroom sink and was still allowed to keep the glass cups that the staff set out for the Tartaruga's guests. Given that the people responsible for her captivity were attempting to deprive her as much as humanly possible, Mattie supposed that the cups remained there out of generous consideration. Or out of generous oversight.
Her room at present looked like it belonged in some sort of low-level mental hospital, with a sand-coloured carpet that felt much too vast now that all of her belongings had been cleared out and taken for inspection. Oh, and there was also the matter of her sheets being ripped off her bed and tossed aside. Mattie had done that herself, and while screaming out of frustration, too. She was in a barely furnished box, encompassed by four white walls. Meanwhile, there was a gust of wind with her name on it, and she knew just who she'd sacrifice for it if the choice ever came.
Not for much longer, a dark thought spoke to her. The people holding her hostage at the Tartaruga were waiting for someone else to arrive and take her, and the fact that they wouldn't tell her who that person was made her dry throat and stifled lungs seem like childish complaints in comparison. Because they could tell her as many personal facts as her profile could provide, from her grades in secondary school to the last time she attended a football game, and she still would never buy that she was a national security threat waiting for Interpol. Interpol likely would not send only one agent to bring a suspected terrorist into custody.
Mattie tried to remember any potential crimes she could have committed lately. She hadn't hacked in ages. She might have stolen her flatmate's favourite album and hidden it inside her laundry hamper, but it was the worst dubstep she'd ever heard and its owner deserved to be arrested for it more than Mattie did.
But then again, the first boy who had ever really taken a fancy to her had called her a "sexy terrorist."
What a wonderful holiday this turned out to be. At that moment, Mattie would have traded the Portuguese sun and hot blue sky for her home's hint of outdoor light in the grey sky for anything. She would have traded it for the bangers and mash she'd been eating on campus before she left.
She wished she'd never gone to Leeds.
A week ago, she was there at university, compulsively checking her email. Boring stuff like her mum's usual "when are you coming home" letter and notifications for homework updates were in there, but that day she found something different. Something she'd been hoping for.
Dear Miss Hawkins
I'm afraid I don't understand your question. Are you inquiring about the specific technology used to create a synthetic model? Or are you referring to synthetic emotional consciousness? If the former, it is patented and you'd do better writing to Edwin Hobb for an internship. He is the CEO of Synthetic Software, INC.
As for the latter, it does not exist. Perhaps one day your generation or the next will see it come to fruition, but because of your earnest persistence, the most help I can give now is a referral to some of my former colleagues who have been studying that aspect of artificial intelligence for years. Keep in mind that these are scientists, any of which may reject contact or not reply at all.
KEVIN ALMEIDA
RUA DO FAROL 2
AVEIRO
3870-301 TORREIRA
PORTUGAL
ALAN FARADAY
LANDMARK HOUSE
HAMMERSMITH BRIDGE ROAD
LONDON
W6 9EJ
UNITED KINGDOM
Nathalie Verte
27 RUE PASTEUR
14390 CABOURG
FRANCE
Delta Drives
123 McLean Avenue
Apt 6C
Staten Island, NY 10311
Thomas Michel
Röntgenstr. 9
67133 MAXDORF
GERMANY
P.S. I advise that you refrain from any following attempts to contact me. I shall offer no further response.
Kind regards,
Noah Amsler
"Bloody hell," said Mattie, releasing the breath she'd been holding. Noah Amsler, the Noah Amsler, whom she'd been warned would not be interested in breaking his reclusion to talk to an undergraduate in Leeds, just emailed her. She knew one of her professors in the university's synthetic tech program had been pushing particularly hard to get Mattie in touch with Amsler, but even with that Mattie's chances had been low.
She looked at the list of addresses Amsler had provided once more, and returned to her inbox. Mattie hit the reply icon above her mother's email.
Don't worry, Mum, I'll be there. There's something else I want to do in London.
"Alright, Mr. Faraday," said Mattie with a slight grin. "You're not going to give me no for an answer, either."
The right thing to do, of course, had been to visit her family first. Laura Hawkins opened her front door and greeted Mattie with beaming emotion. "Oh," sighed her mother, tears welling in her eyes.
"Mum, seriously. I've only gone a month without visiting this time," said Mattie, although she was discomfited by guilt all the same.
"Ah, I know, I know," murmured Laura.
Because Laura was no longer working full-time, it was just them in the house for the moment. Mattie's father was at work, her brother Toby was out with some friends, and Sophie had dance practice after school. So mother and daughter sat at the dining table, drinking tea and sharing updates.
"You've changed so much since your graduation," smiled Laura.
Mattie stared down at her cup. "It's been five years."
Laura shook her head, marveling. "I know," she said again.
But she didn't. Mattie had wanted to bring up the events of five years ago for a while now, but there was hesitation on her part and reluctance on Laura's.
It's okay, Mum, Mattie thought. I'm sure loads of people meet synthetic beings that would sacrifice themselves for others, make jokes, and have families. They probably meet boys who've died and come back as half-synthetics too. No big deal. How's your tea?
But by the end of this thought, the words stung as she thought of the Synths – people really – that had forever changed the lives of her family. Most especially Mattie's. Which reminded her –
"I've got an academic referral from Noah Amsler," she informed Laura.
"That's wonderful dear – who's Noah Amsler?"
Mattie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Just another genius who can help me claim another scholarship and continue my educational pursuits, Mum. He's the one that invented a device which can wirelessly contact and communicate with Synths."
"That is wonderful. Sorry, I don't keep up with the news as much as I should these days." Mattie supposed that was probably a good thing. An ambassador from Sudan had been assassinated on his way to a NATO conference. It turned out that the culprit had been a Synth, although Mattie couldn't imagine how it could have killed someone when harming a human was against the very core of their programming.
Unless it was a Synth created without that programming. But she knew none of her Synths would ever do that. For one, it risked breaching the low profile they were intent on maintaining. Leo would never have allowed that. Secondly, they were good souls. They weren't dangerous. Well, except for the blonde one. But Mattie had the impression that even Niska wasn't that bad.
Her thoughts then returned to her mother. Laura still looked so weak, even a year after her treatments were done. The cancer had taken so much from her, but not her kindness. Not her ability to hold her own in an argument, or her active interest in her children's lives.
Her mother now asked, "What was the other thing you wanted to do while in London?"
Shaking her head, Mattie answered, "It can wait."
She'd spent a whole day with her family before Laura encouraged her to go seek out Alan Faraday. But when Mattie looked up the phone number for his research facility and dialed, his lab assistant picked up and gave Mattie startling news. Alan Faraday hadn't been seen or heard from in a month.
Wondering if hermitry had suddenly affected Faraday the way it had Amsler, it was Mattie's natural instinct to doggedly venture to his residence next. Empty. It was cleared out a week ago by Faraday himself, who had announced that he would not return.
Now she was in Portugal, after trying for another name on the list. And, literally tied up as she was, she swore that Kevin Almeida would get what was coming to him.
A strong knock at the door broke Mattie out of her nostalgic spell. "Open up!" said a male voice on the other side. There was no Portuguese accent, so she knew whatever he wanted wouldn't be for her benefit. "I said, 'Open up!'"
"Bite me!" she snapped.
The knocking stopped. Another voice, this one female and accented, said, "Miss Hawkins, we would like to give you your cellphone back."
Did they take her for an idiot? There was no way she was falling for that.
"Miss Hawkins, your mother has called. We need you to calm her down."
"You're lying." Mattie hoped to God they were lying. She wasn't sure Laura could survive the shock of this situation.
"Madalena," coaxed the voice.
That's it. Furious, Mattie swung the door open. "It's Matilda."
The woman looked at her apologetically. Mattie glared at her, and at the tall man beside her, the one who'd brought her in after Kevin Almeida reported her as a person of interest for the authorities. Whatever the fuck that meant.
"I'll need some privacy," she said.
The man and woman shared a questioning glance. She realized she may have better luck reasoning with the woman. That was, if they had an opportunity to speak alone.
But the man adjusted his tie and said, "We need to hear what you tell her."
"Which will be what, exactly?"
"Whatever you want," he replied.
She raised an eyebrow in defiance. "Really? Is this what Interpol does, then? Locking people up and starving them without explaining why? Allowing them to lie to their families about it -"
"We never said you have to lie," interrupted the man. "And we're not Interpol."
"Yeah, no shit."
He folded his arms, likely preparing to use forceful tactics, when the woman said, "Let us step back, Mr. Roan. Give her some space, but stay within earshot."
The man agreed, and once they were further down the hallway, Mattie unlocked her screen. They weren't kidding about her mother needing to be calmed down. There were nine messages from Laura, and Mattie hadn't answered her phone once.
She also had a text message. Unknown contact. Mattie stared, hardly believing it.
If you're in a fix, text me back.
One day upon her arrival and settling into the Tartaruga, Mattie had received her first text message from this unknown person. Go home, it had read.
The day of her interview with Almeida, there was a text saying that if she didn't leave Portugal, she would regret it. She'd tried to trace it, reverse dial the number, even hack it with her rusty skills. But there was nothing; the person must have either been using a disposable phone or a booth.
When they'd brought her in, kicking and using every single English curse word in existence – and some German ones too – she assumed that they were the ones who had texted her those messages. They'd tried to run her out of town, and that hadn't worked, so now they were detaining her. That was what she'd been thinking.
Until now.
Mattie was tempted to answer yes right away, but what if it was seen by Roan? He could take away her phone for good or move her to someplace worse. He'd make sure that she would no longer have water glasses. Such small luxuries had to be considered. She thought for a moment and, pretending to dial her mother's number, she texted back quickly.
All good here. Meeting some lovely people and having a grand time. Miss u!
After she hit send, she called her mother. Making sure she was loud enough to hear, she said cheerfully, "Mum! Hey."
"Mattie!" Laura's voice was alarmed. "Thank God, I thought you'd been abducted!"
More or less, she thought, looking over at Roan in resentment.
"Why haven't you been picking up?" Laura asked.
"Oh, you know, been too busy enjoying life as a tourist." Mattie's fingers trembled, and she prayed her voice wasn't going to shake. She had to get through this. She could not shake.
The conversation went on for two more minutes, but she couldn't stand being observed with such scrutiny as she gave her mother reassurances, and finally bid her mother farewell for the evening before she got stuck on the phone talking with her dad and the rest of her family next.
I have to get the hell out of here, she seethed in silence as she returned her phone to the man. Forget Kevin Almeida, she hoped that whoever was offering to help her would take out Roan first.
The good news was, they did take her to a better room after she'd cooperated. They brought her bread and water and let her use the lavatory. The bad? It was the check - in desk where she'd be surrounded by five people in various parts of the room, watching her every move. And she had no idea where some of them were.
She thought she spotted one stranger talking to another while paying her side glances every ten minutes or so. He could have been one of them. It could have been both of them.
Eventually, Mattie found herself just staring at the desk. The synth sitting at it, her face as emotionless as blank paper, was the worst kind of guard - one Mattie couldn't talk around. Luckily for her, the synth was called away minutes later to address one of the other guest's complaints about the water pressure in the shower. Mattie scooted closer towards the desk, and stood.
"What do you think you're doing?" asked the security guard behind her. Mattie winced. "You know what I'm doing." She tried to make herself sound annoyed, even as her terrified heart was racing between words. She said quickly, "I really need to use the restroom."
He raised his eyebrows, and her face fell. Then he told her, "You'll have five minutes. Wait here, I'll have Albert take you."
Well, she sure as hell wasn't going to wait for Albert. She waited twelve seconds for the guard to move to the other side of the room, and then, edging near the wall, she broke into a run. She could hear the shouts of her guards two seconds later, and sprinted. She found the stairs - but someone else was on her way up and found Mattie first.
"Madalena!"
She stood facing the more sympathetic-looking woman from earlier. She breathed heavily, wondering if this was checkmate for her. And then the woman nudged her down the stairs. Once they'd hit the last step, she faced Mattie, who said, "My name is Matilda."
"And my name is Rosa." The woman handed an astounded Mattie back her cellphone. "I am a friend of Kevin Almeida's. He apologizes sincerely for his actions. Turning you in was the only way they'd let him out."
"Wait – let him out for what?"
"No time, no time. There is a car waiting for you outside, it will take you to wherever you feel you would be safe. Go, Matilda, go! Go!"
A grateful Mattie listened, and went as fast as she could, hearing Rosa's convincing shouts that she had gone down the stairs echoing behind her. There was a door at the end of the stairs. Perfect. Out of breath, Mattie went straight for the first car on the road that honked.
She opened the door and fell inside, and she let tears fall out of her eyes for the first time in two days as the car began to roll along. As it picked up pace, Mattie checked her cellphone.
No messages.
She squeezed her fist. Anger, confusion, disappointment, fear – too much was going on in her head as she typed.
Where the bloody hell r u?
"Where to, miss?" asked the driver.
It seemed like forever before she could answer. She felt hot with tears and cold with anxiety and no one was going to answer -
1 New Message.
Sorry in France now. Talk later. Click on this link.
A link? Mattie tapped her screen, and it showed a digital ticket confirming a reservation. It was a digital plane ticket to Paris. Her hand went to her mouth to muffle her overwhelmed breathing.
"Miss? Where are you going?"
She cleared her throat. "The airport." And I'd better damn well have some answers when I get there.