Chapters (57)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Foreword
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Praise for Linwood Barclay
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
Kyle looked at his screen, unable to take his eyes off the horizontal, thermometer-like graph, a red line moving from left to right. It inched its way to the far end, and when it had reached its destination, three words popped up.
FILE TRANSFER COMPLETE
Kyle smiled. It was done. The virus had infected the host.
“Locked and loaded,” Kyle said quietly. “Showtime.”
Nine
On his way to the ferry, Joe Bridgeman’s cell phone rang.
He was sitting in the front of the special black-and-white Arrival that had been outfitted for police duty. No steering wheel, no gas pedal, but it did come with a few items that the standard Arrival did not. The dashboard monitored the usual automotive functions, but it was also a police computer that allowed Joe to check license plates and personal IDs, connect with his own or other departments.
He’d balked, at first. What good was a cop car that you couldn’t drive like you were Steve McQueen in Bullitt? But Arrival’s theory was, if all the cars on the road were programmed to obey the rules, what was the point of police chases? At least it was possible to bump up the speed some on this model. Even in a world where there were no longer traffic accidents, break-ins, assaults and murders were still possible. Sometimes you needed to get somewhere, pronto.
Joe took out his phone, saw who was calling, and tapped the screen.
“Hi, Mom,” he said.
“Are you in the neighborhood?” she asked.
This was always how she started. Like, she didn’t want to be a bother, but if he did happen to be in the neighborhood, would he have a moment to drop by? But when you lived on an island that was not exactly as big as Greenland or Australia, you were pretty much always in the neighborhood.
“What’s up?” he asked her.
“It’s such a nice day, I was wondering, but this is only if you happen to be—”
“You want to be outside?”
“Well, the sun is out, and while it was a bit cool this morning, it’s warmed up nicely, so I was thinking maybe—”
“You want to sit out?”
“Oh! You guessed it right away.”
“I’ll swing by. But that’s all I’ve got time for.”
“Oh? What’s going on?”
“Five minutes, Mom.”
He ended the call and then said aloud, “Yeah, uh, Sherlock, could we stop by my house?”
“I’ll take you there,” the car said. It seemed a little weird, naming the car Sherlock when it only had a woman’s voice. Maybe he should reprogram it, call the car Herlock. No, that was too cute.