Chapter 5

I step inside the conference room, a sunny, airy room that looks over a beautifully landscaped walled courtyard. Remy follows close behind, surreptitiously flashing the screen of his phone at me as we enter. I'm a little surprised to see Raven's profile on it; or maybe I'm not. I know what he has in mind. I give a slight nod and he hits the send button.

Jake and Pete Wisdom are already sitting on the couches set invitingly by the wall length windows that open onto the courtyard, Wisdom looking admittedly delicious in his creaseless dress shirt and satin grey waistcoat. Both look up as we enter, and it doesn't escape my notice that Wisdom's gaze falls directly onto me.

This time his glance is less appreciative than serious. Which isn't exactly a good sign as far as I'm concerned. He isn't in the mood for light flirtation – there aren't any easy angles for me to play.

"Sorry we're late, Mr. Wisdom," Remy apologizes jovially as we shake hands again and take seats. "You happened to catch us on our day off."

"My fault entirely," Wisdom answers with a sincerity that sounds unnervingly uncharacteristic of him. "I'm sorry to call you in to work on your day off, but I didn't think it wise to let this wait." He pauses and gives a slight smile, looking over to the windows. "You have a nice setup here."

Remy smiles and shrugs modestly.

"Thank you. It works for us."

"You have a very... niche operation going, Mr. Lord."

"Depends on what part of our 'operation' you're talkin' about."

Remy's tone is a little less jovial, a little more forced. It's clear from Wisdom's demeanour that he isn't here for small talk, yet for some reason his comments seem complimentary, almost apologetic. Remy's observation, at least, brings a genuine smile to his lips.

"True. Shipping and logistics isn't quite what I had in mind, though. You can imagine the quandary I was in when I needed some 'inventory retrieval,' as you call it. There wasn't much choice on the market, so to speak. Mostly a bunch of low-life rabble that I'm sure you can appreciate the government doesn't really want to have to make any deals with. Luckily, you came recommended from... certain US contacts. We were very impressed with your work. With your... skills."

He throws a glance at me on the tail-end of the sentence. Glances are always so much more expressive than words.

I get the sense he's about to continue, when he's interrupted by a knock at the door. Jubilee comes in with a jug of water, glasses and pastries. She lays them down on the coffee table between us with a smile before retreating unobtrusively to the door and shutting it quietly behind her.

Remy leans over and pours out the water.

"Let's just cut the crap, shall we, Wisdom?" he says with exaggerated cordiality. "We all know what everyone does here. Now I'm all for a bit of what my Tante Mattie used ta call 'gumshoeing' when the situation warrants it. But I'm pretty sure this ain't one of those situations." He lifts a glass and hands it to our guest. "Right now, all this pussyfootin' around could be considered a waste o' time."

Wisdom is silent a moment, giving nothing but a rueful smirk.

"You flatter me, Mr. LeBeau," he finally replies. "My intel is certainly not as comprehensive as you might think." He takes a long drink of his water, sets the glass down on the table slowly. Remy, meanwhile, is quiet, his expression suddenly tellingly blank. I'm as surprised as he is. We'd both expected Wisdom to have figured out a lot about us – but hearing Remy's name from his lips is something none of us had been prepared for.

Wisdom evidently enjoys having dropped this little bomb on us all.

I frown.

How the hell did he figure out Remy's name?

Wisdom gives a half smile, too polite to outwardly gloat.

"Mr. Gavin here is an open book," he continues flippantly, his eyes still on Remy. "You, far less so. Miss. D'Ancanto, on the other hand," and he looks at me critically, "well, she doesn't appear to have any identity at all. Which I find very intriguing."

I stare him out. I'm used to doing the whole expressionless thing. It's a look I'm far more comfortable wearing than most. In the end he gives up, leans back in his seat, and looks back at Remy.

"I hope there are no hard feelings over the fact that we're spying on you," he says with a surprising amount of honesty.

"Why should there be?" Jake unexpectedly pipes up, almost with hostility. "You said yourself you'd be keeping an eye on us. Just in case the Marko gang shows up for a little bit of payback."

Wisdom's laugh is dry, soft.

"Ha. That I did. But that isn't the whole story, and of course, you know it. You're all a national security threat. You've also proved to be surprisingly... slippery. We aren't used to people who ferret out our surveillance measures so effortlessly. Even our counterparts in the US have very little on you."

He addresses this to me and Remy. It's clear he knows next to nothing about me. Whatever he has on Remy... Well, I'm not entirely sure how much it is, or how he came across it.

"What do you want from us?" Remy asks, this time with overt coldness. Wisdom inhales, exhales audibly; he shifts a little awkwardly in his seat.

"Well," he begins with a touch of helplessness. "We'd very much like to hire your services again, Mr. LeBeau."

Not unexpected – but still a surprise. I could almost have believed it more if Marko had escaped prison, gone on the lam, and was threatening to kill us. I'm not sure what Remy's thinking. He says nothing.

After a few moments, Peter Wisdom leans forward in his seat and looks round at each of us with a confidential air.

"Please bear in mind that everything I'm about to tell you is classified," he begins in a low voice – low enough for me to wonder whether he's guessed this is being recorded. Remy, rarely impressed by anything, merely pulls one of his most exasperating smirks.

"Kinda strange you'd be givin' away classified information to a known national security threat, neh?" he quips.

Wisdom looks very much like he'd like to wipe the smirk from Remy's face, and I have to admit – sometimes I know exactly how he's feeling.

"Mr. LeBeau," he states frostily, "I wouldn't be here if I didn't think you weren't the best – the only – people for this job."

Well. This is a risky statement to make. There's only one conclusion I can make from it – he's desperate.

"Huh." Remy picks up his glass of water and lifts it casually to his lips. "Sounds like you guys are desp'rate."

"Desperation is one way of looking at it," Wisdom replies, completely unfazed. His expression is steely. He's confident, uncowed.

"Or," Jake speaks up slowly from the sidelines, "you may actually be counting yourself lucky that you've found the only people in the world who can actually get what you want done."

Wisdom looks over at him and flashes a dazzling smile.

"Exactly."

Remy looks annoyed again. It's clear that Pete Wisdom aggravates him, and he doesn't make any bones about hiding it – not an entirely sensible line of attack.

"The suspense is killin' me," he observes sarcastically – enough to get Wisdom to drop the smile and continue seriously:

"We've had a data breach."

"Yeah. We kinda guessed."

"Several very valuable mem-chips were stolen. We managed to recover most of the inventory; and thanks to Gavin & Lord, the final chip is now back in our possession." He trails off and stares into his glass for a few seconds. "Of course," he says quietly, "you've probably guessed that most governments keep a copy of all mem-data that's uploaded and stored in the cloud."

"Right," Remy interjects, almost disdainfully. "'Cos there's power in mem'ries, neh?"

"Yes." Wisdom's smile is wry. "Except that 'facing with the memories of others is both dangerous and addictive. To 99.9% of the population at least."

For a moment, I'd thought he was going to look right at me. He doesn't.

"I guess until there's a way of digitally playing back memories, there ain't a lot you can do about that," Remy rejoins coolly. "Too bad Trask gave up workin' on the mem-tech."

Wisdom is unconcerned by the point. He slouches back in the couch with a squeak of leather, and jerks a grin that's almost complacent.

"That's assuming one doesn't have one of the 0.1% working for you, doesn't it?"

The statement shuts Remy's mouth. I can almost feel him wanting to look at me, but he doesn't. The silence that follows is tense, and for some reason – maybe because he really is desperate – Wisdom relents. The smile drops from his face, and he leans forward again seriously.

"Look. You don't like me, LeBeau. I get that. I even respect it. Let me be honest with you. Eighteen months or so ago, there was an 'incident' at a corporate building called Empharma HQ in New York." He pauses. The word – Empharma – instantly has my attention. Beside me, Remy is completely silent. After a moment, Wisdom resumes. "The company, it turns out, was a front for some very illicit and some might say cutting edge experimentation in mem-tech and mem-therapy. This 'incident' left the building in ruins and most of the project's assets destroyed. Some things remained though, most of which were confiscated by the NSA. Other things, however…" He pauses, not sure how to continue. "Well. Let's just say we managed to smuggle them out and into our possession."

I stiffen at his words. I can't help myself. What is he insinuating? Or is he insinuating anything at all? Remy, sitting beside me, stretches a little, letting his arm come across the top of the sofa, his hand brushing my shoulder imperceptibly. It's a small token, but enough of an anchor for me to grasp a hold of. It's a shock to realise I need it. I hold on hard.

"Oh, I'm jes' sure you did," he comments sardonically.

"Wait," Jake says. "Are you trying to tell us that that mem-chip you hired us to steal back for you… that that data breach you had… that they are all related to this, um… contraband you smuggled from this 'incident' back in New York?"

Wisdom nods.

"Uh huh."

"And that's bad, 'cos a) no one's supposed to know you have it, and b) no one's even supposed to know it exists."

Again, Wisdom nods appreciatively.

"In a nutshell, yes."

"And what has this got to do with any of us?" Remy cuts in. Wisdom glares at him sharply.

"There were a number of survivors from that building. One of them we interrogated extensively. His name was Victor Creed." He pauses; and I think both Remy and I know what's coming next. "He seemed to know you pretty well, LeBeau. So much so that he declared loudly and often that he wished he'd killed you before the explosion got you first. I'm pretty sure he'd be thrilled to know his ex-Weapon X partner is still alive."

I can almost hear Remy inwardly swear. Suddenly MI13's apparent knowledge of Remy's identity makes a whole lot more sense.

"Oh?" On the outside, Remy seems completely unaffected by this news. "How is my fav'rite ol' kitty these days, huh? Rottin' in maximum security, I hope."

Wisdom doesn't bat an eyelid.

"He won't be seeing the light of day anytime soon, let's just say that."

I chance a quick look over at Jake. It's clear that this is all news to him; that he's only just beginning to learn that there are some things about his business partner that Remy had always held back. His expression is at an intersection between confusion and betrayal. There may just be a little bit of oh fuck, what did you get us into, Cajun? somewhere in there too.

I hold my breath.

"To go back to my story," Wisdom is continuing blithely, "we had someone in our unit who we used to 'face with mem-chips. He was an American national, but since he was the only person we knew who had that particular skill, we were able to pull some strings and get him to work for us. We gave him the chips we'd smuggled from the Empharma site to 'face with. We really wanted to know whether there was any sensitive information on them; anything we could learn about the mem-tech."

He pauses; and I feel Remy's thumb stroke along the curve of my shoulder almost imperceptibly.

"Unfortunately," Wisdom concludes with a grimace of displeasure, "as soon as he'd 'faced with the chips, he went AWOL. And because he knew how we operated, as well as his special 'skill set', we were unable to track him down. We still are."

"Lemme guess," Remy says. "He took those chips with him."

Again, Wisdom gives that disarmingly boyish look of helplessness.

"I suppose it takes one thief to know how another thief works."

He means it as a backhanded jibe, but to Remy this kind of thing is a compliment.

"Anyway," he continues once Remy shows no sign of having been offended, "soon after that, we began to realise that other sensitive mem-data in our collection was starting to go missing. We think this man started working with Cain Marko to steal from us. In fact, we have pretty solid intel that says he did."

He pauses, probably expecting us to ask him how they know.

"What's this man's name?" I ask instead, speaking for the first time. Wisdom almost looks surprised I'm finally chipping in.

"He calls himself Logan," he replies; and that's when everything starts to make a horrible kind of sense.

"And you want us to find him for you," I murmur.

"Yes."

Silence. Remy's thumb goes suddenly still against my shoulder.

"Hang on," Jake breaks in sceptically. "We do inventory retrieval, not people retrieval. Why even ask us?"

"Because," Wisdom answers simply, "we believe this Logan was linked to the experimental project going on in New York, Mr. Gavin."

His tone is smooth, firm. He knows more than he's letting on – far more. Thanks to Creed, he already knows Remy is linked to Weapon X. And he's made it clear he suspects the same of me. His refusal to call this 'experimental project' what it really is… it's a way to draw me out. I know it. And it irritates me. I'm tired of denying my past on Essex's pet project. For a long time, it was all I had.

"Weapon X, Mr. Wisdom," I correct him flatly. "Let's call it what we both know it is, shall we?"

He leans back in his seat, his gaze falling on me with this peculiar kind of triumph. The line of his body is casual, tilted ever so slightly towards me… but the way he looks at me is sober, penetrating. Real, for a moment.

"And are you Weapon X, Miss D'Ancanto?" he finally asks, softly.

I glare at him.

"You know I am."

He quirks me an appraising look – half-serious, half-admiring.

"I'd guessed. I had no proof."

"And you believe being Weapon X would give us some sort of leverage with this Logan?" I ask coldly.

"Miss D'Ancanto, either you or Mr. LeBeau here – being what you both are – stand a far better chance with him than we ever could."

And now we get to the meat of the matter – finally.

"There were two iterations of the Weapon X program. I belonged to one. Remy to another. Do you know which one this Logan belonged to?"

I'm fishing to see how much he knows – and he knows it. His smile is wry, knowing.

"Logan belonged to the original Weapon X program. We know this because we've had him working for us for over 10 years – since before the second program even started." His smile drops slightly. "Let me tell you about this Logan. He was picked up off the streets in about 2020, was arrested for the murder of two men in a drunken bar brawl. The only reason we managed to capture him was because his arse was all sorts of intoxicated. Booze, heroin, Xanax and mem-intoxication doesn't make for a very good cocktail – at least not for living. The doctors couldn't understand how he was still alive, in fact. He had no ID papers, and he didn't know who he was. He said he was Logan, and that was all he knew. His memories were patchy at best. We got nothing from him except that, out of all his addictions, the most interesting one was to mem-chips. He could recall memories he 'faced with better than he could his own life. That's a very rare talent – and one that's also extremely useful."

He pauses, leaning over to top up his water slowly. My heart is beating like a jackhammer. The pressure of Remy's thumb on my shoulder increases. I feel his eyes on me for one burning moment, questioning, intense… and then – gone.

"So we cleaned him up, got him tagged, and made it... beneficial for him to work for us. He took to it like a duck to water. Other peoples' memories were like a substitute for his own. You might even say he enjoyed his job. And we, of course, found it very profitable. Until he 'faced with the chips from the Empharma facility, and lost his mind." He pauses and adds with dry humour: "Figuratively speaking, of course. He lost his mind years ago."

I want to say something, but suddenly find I can't. I'm grateful when Remy chips in instead.

"What will you do to this Logan?" he asks. "Assumin' you even find him?"

Wisdom's expression is flat.

"That'll be up to him," he simply states.

Remy nods absently to himself. We all know what that statement means.

What follows is a long, tense silence. Perhaps for the first time ever, Jake's face is studiously unreadable, and I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's out of his depth here and he knows it. Remy, I sense, is working very hard not to look in my direction. He knows this is my call, not his. He also knows that if I were to talk right now, it could give away more than any of us are intending.

But he needs a line, and I throw it to him. I uncross my legs, then cross them again in the opposite direction.

Remy takes the cue and leans forward.

"How much would we be talkin'?" he queries.

Wisdom doesn't even blink.

"One million," he says. "Each."

Jake lets out a low whistle. But Remy barely even pauses.

"Sterling, or US?"

A heartbeat of silence.

"Sterling."

"And negotiable terms?"

Wisdom does blink then. He places his hands in his lap and fiddles with his cufflinks.

"Of course," he finally says.

The writing's on the wall. They want this guy. Badly.

"The three of us would have to confer before we decided to take the job," Remy says after a moment.

The cloud over Wisdom's face clears a bit.

"Naturally."

"So what if we say yes?"

"Well then, we give you everything we have on this man so far that might be of assistance to you. But as to anything that might happen out in the field... Well, that we can't help you with, I'm afraid. Logan is supposed to be living out a life sentence at Her Majesty's pleasure. If we were to... intervene... it would be very bad for the government's reputation, you see."

He gives an apologetic smile, which Remy ignores.

"And if we say no?" he questions.

Wisdom's demeanour becomes cold again. He sits up a little straighter.

"Then you may consider our business relationship at an end," he says simply.

There's a threat there. He doesn't need to spell it out.

A split second later, and the coldness is gone. He springs to his feet, all smiles once more.

"Well. I suppose I should leave you to discuss my proposition. Please, do take your time. I understand that this may be all rather unexpected. But, as I'm sure you can appreciate, desperate times call for desperate measures. I consider myself very fortunate that MI13 already has such a profitable partnership with Gavin & Lord. As it stands, I'm not sure there is anyone else we could turn to."

He pockets his phone and bestows us with an accommodating smile.

"When you've come to a decision, do let me know. Mr. Gavin has my contact details. I'll be happy to hear from you."

He makes to leave and none of us move to see him out.

"Don't worry," he says cheerfully, already heading for the door. "I'll see myself out."

I hardly hear him. My mind is working a mile a minute. Just as he gets to the door, I swivel in my seat and call to him. I don't care if it looks like a weakness.

"Mr. Wisdom."

He stops, he turns, he looks expectantly at me. His gaze is peculiarly flat.

"Yes?"

I think. Or maybe I don't. If I do, it's only for a split second.

"Before we decide anything," I say, "there are two things I want. First, I'll need to take a look at what he's stolen. An inventory will do. A list, of the names and dates on those chips." I pause and flash him a polite, though glacial, smile. "It might give us some leads. Some clues, as to whether this is a job that we even have a chance of accomplishing. If Logan is Weapon X, he won't be easy to track down, even for us. He stole the chips he did for a reason. You find out the reason, you stand a better chance of finding where he might be and what he plans to do."

Maybe I'm giving away what should probably remain hidden – that I'm invested already, that Wisdom's hook already runs deeper than he thinks. He's played his hand admirably well – I certainly can't help but admire him for his skill. But there are things he doesn't know about me. About the things I've seen and the things I've done. About the horrors I can inflict, have inflicted. There are things I could do to his clever, beautiful self that would make him wish he'd never played me for a fool. He thinks he knows so much, but he doesn't know anything, not really.

Whatever he thinks now, he doesn't let it show. His poker-face remains resolutely intact, except for the faintest suggestion of a smile on his mouth as he says:

"And the second thing you require?"

"Another list. Of all the chips MI13 managed to recover from the Empharma building when it went down."

I've shown him my hand – at least a part of it. I expect him to gloat, but he doesn't. Instead, he inclines his head slightly – a token of respect that tells me he considers me an equal.

"As you wish, Miss. D'Ancanto," he replies softly. "I'll have someone send it to Mr. Gavin as soon as possible."

There's a look in his eyes that forces me to reconsider how he views me. I'm no longer simply the talented eye candy in Gavin & Lord's axis. I'm something else to him now, and… he likes it. Maybe I do too.

The sweep of his gaze leaves me with a strange glow of pride; an illicit thread of warmth.

But neither of us says a thing, and after a second, he opens the door and leaves.

-oOo-