facial expressions, his voice, assessing his operational status.
Alex looked over his shoulder, as if concerned about being overheard. ‘Not physically. I get bad dreams still.’
‘We all have them,’ Hammerson said calmly. ‘Can’t outrun them, so best to embrace them, try and understand them, determine which are real and which aren’t. We can help you. We’re ready now.’
‘What about Graham?’
‘Not an issue any more, but there are others still looking for you. You need to keep eyes in the back of your head. Look, Alex, there’s too much to bring you up to speed on now. Let’s discuss it over a coffee. Where can I find you?’
Hammerson knew exactly where Alex was, but wanted to check whether the man was aware of his own location. Or was he wandering aimlessly along endless highways?
There was more silence, then. ‘Lincoln. But you know that.’
Hammerson smiled. Only about fifty miles or so south-west. He split his screen and called up a street map.
Alex spoke again. ‘I’m close to the Capitol Building – I can wait.’
Hammerson traced some gridlines on the streetscape. ‘No, there’s too much surveillance there. Stay indoors or out of sight – we’ll find you. I can be there in a few hours. Do you need anything?’
‘No, just to talk is fine. I’ll grab something to eat.’ There was a pause. ‘Come alone, Jack,’ Alex said.
‘I only ever bring what I need,’ Hammerson said, and disconnected. He kept the phone in his hand, then dialed again. ‘Reid, suit up. You’re taking a trip with me to Lincoln … to meet an old friend.’
*
Alex reached up to feel his face – he was clean-shaven after carrying a full beard for months. It felt good. He’d rented a room for the shower, then cut away his beard and long hair, and discarded most of his old clothes. He was wearing the last clean shirt he owned; he’d get some new ones later. First he had more pressing needs – his body craved food, again; a side effect of a blistering metabolism. It was eleven ten in the morning – late for breakfast, and early for lunch. He crossed the road to a small red-brick restaurant and sat down in one of the outside tables, close to the wall, sheltered by some potted palms but facing the street.
A tall thin waiter pushed out through the door and stared at Alex with a mix of disdain and concern. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re not open yet.’
Alex pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘That’s okay, I can wait. It says on the wall that you open in twenty minutes.’
The waiter pursed his lips, obviously contemplating whether he was going to allow Alex to sit there, in or out of business hours. Alex smiled again, trying to appear as harmless as was possible for a large stranger with intense eyes.
The waiter rearranged his features to feign sympathy. ‘There’s a nice little café down the road that’s open right now. Why don’t you try there? ’
He went to pull the menu from Alex’s hands, and suddenly Alex was gripping the man’s wrist a little too tightly. He wasn’t even aware he’d moved; the response was automatic, like someone else was controlling him for that split second.
‘Let go … please.’ The waiter’s voice rose in pitch.
Alex fought an overwhelming urge to bring his fingers together and crush down on flesh and bones.
‘Please.’ The man used his other hand to pry at Alex’s fingers. ‘Please!’
Alex blinked, finally hearing him, and let go. ‘Sorry … just tired. I only want something to eat, coffee to start, and then I’m gone.’
The waiter held his hand up in front of his face, recoiling from Alex’s gaze. Alex smiled again, sat back and tried to look relaxed. He knew he could be frighteningly intimidating; hell, his glare made other soldiers take pause. He breathed in and out slowly, easing the anger back into its cage. He didn’t want to become some kind of bogyman that dogs barked at and people crossed the road to avoid.
The waiter looked
Alex looked over his shoulder, as if concerned about being overheard. ‘Not physically. I get bad dreams still.’
‘We all have them,’ Hammerson said calmly. ‘Can’t outrun them, so best to embrace them, try and understand them, determine which are real and which aren’t. We can help you. We’re ready now.’
‘What about Graham?’
‘Not an issue any more, but there are others still looking for you. You need to keep eyes in the back of your head. Look, Alex, there’s too much to bring you up to speed on now. Let’s discuss it over a coffee. Where can I find you?’
Hammerson knew exactly where Alex was, but wanted to check whether the man was aware of his own location. Or was he wandering aimlessly along endless highways?
There was more silence, then. ‘Lincoln. But you know that.’
Hammerson smiled. Only about fifty miles or so south-west. He split his screen and called up a street map.
Alex spoke again. ‘I’m close to the Capitol Building – I can wait.’
Hammerson traced some gridlines on the streetscape. ‘No, there’s too much surveillance there. Stay indoors or out of sight – we’ll find you. I can be there in a few hours. Do you need anything?’
‘No, just to talk is fine. I’ll grab something to eat.’ There was a pause. ‘Come alone, Jack,’ Alex said.
‘I only ever bring what I need,’ Hammerson said, and disconnected. He kept the phone in his hand, then dialed again. ‘Reid, suit up. You’re taking a trip with me to Lincoln … to meet an old friend.’
*
Alex reached up to feel his face – he was clean-shaven after carrying a full beard for months. It felt good. He’d rented a room for the shower, then cut away his beard and long hair, and discarded most of his old clothes. He was wearing the last clean shirt he owned; he’d get some new ones later. First he had more pressing needs – his body craved food, again; a side effect of a blistering metabolism. It was eleven ten in the morning – late for breakfast, and early for lunch. He crossed the road to a small red-brick restaurant and sat down in one of the outside tables, close to the wall, sheltered by some potted palms but facing the street.
A tall thin waiter pushed out through the door and stared at Alex with a mix of disdain and concern. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re not open yet.’
Alex pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. ‘That’s okay, I can wait. It says on the wall that you open in twenty minutes.’
The waiter pursed his lips, obviously contemplating whether he was going to allow Alex to sit there, in or out of business hours. Alex smiled again, trying to appear as harmless as was possible for a large stranger with intense eyes.
The waiter rearranged his features to feign sympathy. ‘There’s a nice little café down the road that’s open right now. Why don’t you try there? ’
He went to pull the menu from Alex’s hands, and suddenly Alex was gripping the man’s wrist a little too tightly. He wasn’t even aware he’d moved; the response was automatic, like someone else was controlling him for that split second.
‘Let go … please.’ The waiter’s voice rose in pitch.
Alex fought an overwhelming urge to bring his fingers together and crush down on flesh and bones.
‘Please.’ The man used his other hand to pry at Alex’s fingers. ‘Please!’
Alex blinked, finally hearing him, and let go. ‘Sorry … just tired. I only want something to eat, coffee to start, and then I’m gone.’
The waiter held his hand up in front of his face, recoiling from Alex’s gaze. Alex smiled again, sat back and tried to look relaxed. He knew he could be frighteningly intimidating; hell, his glare made other soldiers take pause. He breathed in and out slowly, easing the anger back into its cage. He didn’t want to become some kind of bogyman that dogs barked at and people crossed the road to avoid.
The waiter looked
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