Annalise Fifteen refused for the third time. There was no way anyone was going to interview Graham. He needed time.
"The guy's been chased, kidnapped, shot at and terrorized," she told Jerry Saddler. "He's traumatized."
"The police are not going to wait forever, Annalise," said the lawyer. "Let me at least have a doctor see him. If we can provide the police with a medical report, it will strengthen our hand. At the moment it looks like we're stalling."
And so the conversation continued. As it had most of Sunday afternoon. The same conversation—different venues, different combatants. When could the police see Graham? Why won't he attend an identification parade? What exactly is the matter with him?
Annalise stalled them all. Graham was going nowhere, seeing no one and talking to no one. Not until he was ready. Maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.
"We can't hold these men forever," Dave had told her, minutes after she'd identified the two phoney policemen from their respective lineups. "Twenty-four hours and then we have to charge them or let them go."
"Then charge them," Annalise had said.
"Without Mr. Smith's evidence we don't have enough. We're under extreme pressure as it is. My phone's backed up with lawyers and VIPs. All of them want these men released and you locked up."
"You owe me," she'd snapped. "I've given you three murderers. The least you can give me is a lousy twenty-four hours."
He'd relented. "One o'clock tomorrow afternoon," he'd said. "The twenty-four hours runs out then. Make sure Graham's here before that."
Jenny ran through the options again. Stay in the flat or move to a house outside London.
Neither appealed.
Security at the flat was being tightened. Three men would stay the night, another two would watch the roof, another four on the ground outside. But there was still the memory of the previous night. The ease with which the intruder had broken in.
"That won't happen again," Jenny said. "There's more men and all the cameras have an independent power supply. Plus Dave has promised to have a car come by every half hour. Sylvestrus would have to be mad to try anything again."
Annalise wondered how crazy Sylvestrus was. And how desperate. She could imagine him firing one of his New Tech rockets into the building and waiting for the two of them to run out.
And moving to another house wasn't an option. Sylvestrus would have the building watched. He'd follow them wherever they went.
"Another option," said Jenny, "is to do both. We can hire some look-alikes—with your hair, it'll be easy. We can bring them here in disguise, dress them up, and then you choose where you want to spend the night. The decoys take the option you turn down."
"Won't it be dangerous for the decoys?"
"We'll look after them. If you want, we'll spread the risk. Have ten addresses, ten cars and ten sets of decoys. Sylvestrus won't be able to keep track of them all."
Annalise agreed. She liked that idea. She liked that idea a lot.
Graham wandered through Putney in a cloud. Why was it sometimes he flipped without knowing and other times he felt like he'd been pulled through a mangle? It made no sense.
Maybe it wasn't supposed to, maybe it was punishment for not breaking the link as a child.
Or maybe there was something different about the flips themselves. He thought back. The girl in the park, jumping on the bus, holding a gun to his head. Was there a common denominator? Fear, guns, something tightly grasped in his hand—the girl, the pole, the gun. Was there something about that type of situation—the flow of adrenaline, the overpowering desire not to flip, the physical connection to some kind of restraining anchor—that interfered with the flipping mechanism?
And was it something he could use?
A thought that lasted less than a block. What good was he at using anything. He'd tried to flip and failed and tried not to flip and failed. That was the only thing he was good at. Failure.
It wasn't until he reached the tube station that he thought to check his pockets.
He'd moved house. He was back at Oakhurst Drive. And he had a ParaDim key card.
He rotated the green and gold card between his fingers. Did having a key card signify anything? Did it mean he was safe in this world? Was he helping the Resonance team?
Or had Adam Sylvestrus given it to him? Was that his way of ensnaring Graham, making him welcome, bringing all the eggs into one basket so he could crush him and the Resonance team in one go?
Graham went home, not caring if his house was bugged or full of assassins. Let them all come, he said to himself, what do I care?
He ate late and sat in silence, reflecting on his failures.
He was not Annalise Fifteen. He couldn't think on his feet the way she did. When she'd threatened to kill herself, it had been part of a plan—a way to knock her opponent off balance. When Graham had threatened to kill himself, it had been the plan. He hadn't thought any further. Even now, he wasn't sure what he'd have done next. Pull the trigger, negotiate, bluff? He'd expected something to pop into his head. He hadn't expected it to be another Graham.
The next day dawned under the same cloud. Graham settled into his familiar routine—wash, breakfast, catch the usual train. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to choose, he just wanted to forget.
At work, he printed off the staff list and watched the familiar names roll by. Brenda was married again, back with Bob. He felt a flicker of vicarious happiness. At least someone was having a good time.
"Good morning, Graham," said Sharmila from the doorway.
Graham grunted a greeting as he flicked through the list of names.
"I saw Brenda outside," she said. "She asked me to remind you about her birthday."
Graham swivelled round. It was Brenda's birthday? He'd forgotten. He usually bought her something.
"She's inviting everyone for drinks in her room at twelve."
Graham glanced down at the staff list. Brenda, Brenda, Brenda . . . room 501. Same as always.
Graham smiled and nodded a thank you to Sharmila. If he took an early lunch he could buy something at that little shop by the lights.
He sorted through the morning post, loaded up the mail trolley and set off on the first of his rounds.
Five minutes later, he pushed the mail trolley past the second-floor coffee machine and pressed the up button for the lift. Two women behind him were locked in an earnest conversation. Liz and Steph, from the sound of their voices.
"Is Brenda going to cancel the party?" asked Liz.
Graham's ears pricked at the mention of Brenda's name. Had something happened?
"No, she said Holly wouldn't hear of it," said Steph.
Graham leaned further into the conversation. He knew Holly well. She often worked in the same room as Brenda.
"How old's Holly's mother? She must be getting on," asked Liz.
"Sixty-five. Still, that's no age, is it? Not these days."
Had Holly's mother died? Graham had seen pictures of her once. Holiday snaps that Brenda and Holly had passed around one year. Rhyll. Or had it been Tenby?
"At least it's operable," said Liz. "Holly says she's just thankful they caught it in time. If it hadn't been for the headaches, no one would have known."
"Ugh!" said Steph. "The thought of having something like that growing in your brain . . ."
The lift bell drew the two women's conversation to a close. They filed past Graham, who was suddenly lost in thought.
"Do you want the lift, Graham?" Liz asked, holding the door open.
Graham wasn't sure if he answered. He meant to shake his head but couldn't remember if he had or not.
He did remember the two women laughing.
But none of that mattered. He could see a plan forming in his head. It was so simple. Probably too simple to work. But if it did?
He pressed the down button. He had to find Annalise. He had to plan. And he needed somewhere he could think and make choices without the risk of flipping. He needed to be elsewhere. Fast.
He left the trolley by the Post Room door and hurried outside. He turned left instead of his usual right and started to run. He had to get far enough away. Flipping now would only complicate matters.
He stopped a block away and took a deep breath. For his plan to work he had to find Annalise. But how? She could be anywhere. She could be back in the building he'd just left or at home in America.
Or she might not exist on this world at all.
Think! He slapped his head. A passerby gave him a wide berth. Graham didn't care. Nothing mattered other than finding Annalise.
Should he flip until he found her? Run back to work and cycle through a series of choices and interactions until she appeared? How long would that take? There were 200 billion worlds and only 200 telepathic Annalises. And every day he wasted, another hundred, maybe another thousand, Resonance teams would disappear. The Grahams too—hundreds of them collapsing into comas.
He had to narrow the options. Find some place where he and Annalise would be together.
Like the ParaDim office at Putney!
He checked his pockets. He still had the key card.
He ran, dodging past the crowds, stopping only for roads and then only for the minimum amount of time. He pushed to the front of queues, something the old Graham would never have done. He crossed roads on red. He stepped on cracks.
Occasionally, doubt pushed inside his mind. He'd tried to flip last night. He'd spent ages in the basement, why should today be any different? Wouldn't it be better to go back to work and try Frank Gledwood's office?
He threw the idea aside. Annalise spent as little time as possible with Frank. If one of the girls were on this world, she'd be with the Resonance team.
The spectre of Sylvestrus appeared to Graham as the tube rattled through the tunnels outside Earl's Court. What if Sylvestrus was with the Resonance team? What if there was no Resonance team?
What if, what if? He slapped his head again. The woman opposite scowled, two boys by the door giggled.
He arrived out of breath at the ParaDim building. The same white concrete and black-tinted windows, the same key card entry system. He inserted his key card, placed his right hand on the scanner and looked directly into the camera.
The door opened.
He composed himself, took a deep breath and walked to the reception desk.
"Is Mr. Sylvestrus in?" he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
"Mister who?" said the puzzled guard.
Graham almost collapsed in relief. "How about Miss Mercado?"
The guard ran a finger down a screenful of names and shook his head. "No Mercado listed here. Have you tried the Victoria office?"
"How about Miss Kent?" Was Annalise still using Tamisha's name and ID?
"Miss Kent is in 5G."
Graham slid the last three yards to the lift and slapped the button hard with his palm. He was so close. The lift arrived and Graham jumped in. He turned and stood close to the doors. And wondered. How close did he have to be to create a bridge to another world? Standing on the exact same spot or in the same room? Was standing by the lift doors instead of his usual place at the back protection enough? Or didn't it matter? Would resonance step in and force the two ends of the bridge together? Would his two selves be compelled to meet in the center of the lift? Was that how it worked?
The lift doors opened on the fifth floor. He stepped out and reined in his imagination. He couldn't risk flipping. Not when he was this close. Annalise might be on the other side of that door.
He inserted his key card, placed his hand on the panel and waited for the light above 5G to flash green. The door clicked, he went inside, his heart thumping, her name on his lips.
"Ann—"
He stopped.
The woman was not Annalise.