The Passengers(46)
‘Oh Jack,’ said the Hacker, ‘one might glean from your maudlin words that somewhere deep inside you remains a beating heart. What’s making you so unhappy? Is it that you brought these vehicles onto our roads and now they’re killing people? Or is it that after today, your pipe dream of fully autonomous roads will lie in ruins?’
‘You are killing people, not my dream,’ Jack replied.
‘And these people died because they failed to follow the rules, which I clearly spelled out when this began. Interfere with my cars and you will suffer the consequences. This is what happens when rules aren’t adhered to – disarray and bloodshed.’
‘You’re going to kill them all, aren’t you?’ Libby asked, her eyes lingering on Jude’s face. ‘Every single Passenger.’
‘No, I give you my word that one of them will survive this process.’
Libby laughed. ‘Your word? What does that mean?’
‘I’m afraid it’s all you have. Time, on the other hand, is something you don’t. So shall we begin the interview process? Jack, I would like you to go first. You have ten minutes to keep Claire Arden and her baby alive.’
Chapter 34
CLAIRE ARDEN
Before she climbed into the car that morning, Claire made herself a promise that, come what may, she wouldn’t give in to her emotions until much later in the day. Only when each part of the plan was complete would she allow herself to cry over what Ben had done.
Her pledge had lasted approximately ten minutes before the Hacker’s voice had appeared and informed her of the hijack. She had cried constantly for much of the last hour and a half. Now, just as she thought she was empty, it was time to draw further from the well to win the support of the room. It was imperative to her and Tate’s survival that she tugged harder on their heartstrings.
Along with her pregnancy, it was likely that her appearance might also go in her favour. If the argument she’d overheard the jurors having about race and Bilquis’s death was to be believed, the fact she was white, young and attractive might go in her favour. She felt ashamed that the racism she had spent much of her adult life rallying against might actually benefit her. She wondered how the jury and public might react if they were to learn her husband was of Afro-Caribbean descent and that she was carrying a mixed-race child.
Craving their pity went against Claire’s values. She’d had her fill of wanting to be everything to everybody during a childhood spent on show at social services’ open days; she and her brother dressed in their best clothes and on their best behaviour in the hope of catching the eye and sympathy of prospective adoptive parents. Ben had helped her to understand she needed to impress no one to feel self-worth. But now history was repeating itself and she was that little girl again, relying on the compassion of strangers for a future.
She jumped at the sound of a klaxon and a digital clock appeared on her screen. White numerals began at the ten-minute mark. She braced herself as the countdown began.
‘Hello, Miss Arden; this is MP Jack Larsson,’ Jack began stiffly.
‘Hi, please call me Claire,’ she replied. She stared directly into the camera and blinked to allow the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes to begin their descent. It appeared to catch him off-guard.
‘Please don’t upset yourself. How are you feeling?’
‘I’ve been better.’
‘How’s the baby? Are you in need of medical attention?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
Jack hesitated and glanced around the room, tugging nervously at his collar and clearing his throat. It was the first time since being thrust into his company that Libby had seen him awkward and edgy. ‘Can you tell us a little about yourself please, Claire?’
She picked her words carefully. ‘I’m not sure what to say. I’ve been married to my husband Ben for three-and-a-half years and I work as a teaching assistant at Bellview School in Peterborough – it’s for children with learning difficulties. Ben and I …’ She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Ben and I are expecting our first baby in two months and we’re very excited. It’s going to be a boy; we’ve nicknamed him Tate. And he’s our little miracle. Before I fell pregnant, I had eight miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy. We were told it was unlikely I’d ever be able to conceive or, if I did, then I couldn’t carry it to full term.’ She cradled her stomach and gave a sad smile. ‘So this little one means everything to us.’
‘I understand, I really do … I have no doubt how frightened you must be by what’s happened. But let’s try and remain positive. What kind of mother do you think you’ll make?’
‘A really good one, I hope. I didn’t really have a mum. My brother and I were in care for much of our lives, so I want to be the mother to Tate that mine wasn’t to me. After everything Ben and I have been through in trying to conceive, this baby is already so loved. Every day of the week I see the children in my class who need a bit of extra attention and effort because of their differing abilities. And I care about them so much and they’re not even mine. We decided not to have any pre-pregnancy tests for abnormalities because it’ll make no difference to us if Tate has any problems; we’ll love him just the same. To me he’ll always be perfect.’