“Breakfast?” Mason looked at his whisky. “I guess it is that time.”
“You’re not hungry?” Carter sighed. “You need to eat. Keep up your strength. It’s going to be a busy day.”
“You’re a golden ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Mason tossed back the rest of the whisky. “I should get some sleep.”
“You can sleep when you’re dead. Harden up, buttercup.”
“That’s cold.” Mason walked to the apartment’s kitchen. “You should try field work.”
“It’s not my thing. I’ve a nice desk job here. I don’t want to break a nail.” She paused, her tone softening a little. “I don’t need to die to show my loyalty to the company. And neither do you.”
“You think?” Mason started to pull a few things from the refrigerator. “Cancel the breakfast order. I’ll make it myself.”
“We don’t have time.”
“Make time. I’ve got a guest.”
“You’ve got a guest who charges by the hour.”
“You’re just cranky because I got you up at five-thirty.”
“You didn’t get me up.” Carter sighed. “I didn’t get any sleep last night either.”
“Working late?” Mason put eggs and bacon down on the marble counter. He considered his choices. You can do better. Butter joined his breakfast pile. It was real, from grass-fed cattle. Harder to get than mil-spec ammunition. Mason had a guy who got it for him.
He put the butter down on the marble. His eyes wandered over the dark surface. Veins of white streaked the black. He wanted to touch it, feel its smoothness, its realness. Mason rested his fingertips against the cool stone for a moment, then raised his hand in front of his eyes. “I’ve still got the shakes.”
“You were in the chair for an hour.”
“It felt like longer.”
She sighed. “This is one of the many reasons I don’t do field work.”
“You know what your problem is, Carter?” Mason fired up the stove. Expensive gas flames licked the skillet. He threw a good chunk of butter in the bottom of the pan. Arterial plaque won’t be what gets you, Mason Floyd. “You never get out.”
“I don’t dance, Mason.”
“Who said anything about dancing? But sure, dancing. You should try it.”
“I don’t want to try it.” She paused for a second. “I don’t think so, anyway.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Look, I’ve never really thought about it, okay?”
“Who’s got their asshole dial all the way to eleven this morning? Okay.” The butter had started to bubble, so Mason dropped bacon in the pan. “I just figured … work bonding. I could take you out bowling. Or dancing.” He watched the bacon for a little longer, then cracked some eggs into the pan, moving the butter around over the top of the eggs. Gentle heat was the secret to a perfect fried egg.
That, real butter, and real bacon. Everything was better with bacon. “You still there?”
“I’m here.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“Did you just ask me out dancing?”
Mason tucked a spatula under the edge of an egg, gently teasing it off the pan. Flip without breaking. Don’t want to look like an amateur. “Not really. I asked you out bowling.”
“I don’t dance.”
“So you said.” Mason finished flipping the eggs. “We could play darts instead.”
“It sounds like a date.”
“It’s a few drinks after work.” Mason’s eyes were drawn to the bedroom by the sounds of movement. “Christ!”
“What?”
“I’ve forgotten the toast.” He rummaged in the pantry, pulling out a loaf of artisanal bread.
“I’d…” Carter trailed off, losing all her hard corners for a moment.
“What?”
“I can’t, Mason. I want to. But I can’t.” She sounded wistful. “I’d like to learn to dance.”
“Hey, your loss.” Mason cut the bread into thick slices, revealing seeds within the bread. They weren’t fake soy texture.
“Your breakfast looks good.”
Mason parsed that line through his head twice. “Are you … watching me make breakfast?”
“It’s my job.”
“It’s my apartment!”
“Sorry. I’ll kill the video.”
“It’s also creepy as fuck.” Mason looked at the bread. Un-toasted it’d have to be, or the bacon would burn. I can’t believe I almost screwed up bacon and eggs. “I think this is the first time I’ve forgotten to toast bread for breakfast.”
“It’s been a long night. Cut yourself some slack.”
“You’re warming up.”
“You’ve got a meeting with Gairovald at nine.”
“And the temperature plummets again.” Mason pressed a button on the Jura, watching it shuffle through its coffee ceremony. The smell of coffee hit as the espresso streamed into two cups. “Wait. Did you just say Gairovald?”
“Yes.”
“As in, the boss?”
“That’s right.”
“Am I being fired?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck!” Mason spun to face the windows, coffee forgotten. Get your go bag. Take the stairs, not the elevator. Subway’s a klick out, but you can make it.
“Relax,” said Carter, “I’m just messing with you. You’re not being fired.”
Mason felt the tension in his back unkink. “You’re an asshole.”
“Don’t forget. Nine.”
He held a hand up, middle finger extended. “This is for you.”
“Cute.”
“I thought you killed the video.”
“I thought you weren’t twelve. We can both be wrong, hey?”
“Seriously. Huge asshole.” Mason thought for a moment. “Is someone else being fired?”
“Trust me,” said Carter. “This one’s right up your alley. Enjoy your breakfast. Don’t forget to take some stims. They’re in the medicine cabinet.” The link clicked off, leaving him alone in his head.
Mason set up a breakfast tray. First, the pile of bacon and eggs on bread. Nestle the coffee in the middle. Meeting old man Apsel at 9, huh?
No problem. There was time for breakfast, and maybe a little something else.
Mason headed for the bedroom.
He was still rubbing his wrist where the stim hypo had bit his skin as Mason left the apartment. He’d left the woman in his bed, eyes wide over silk sheets, holding a white cup as she’d breathed the aroma.
Maybe she’d never had real coffee before.
Mason figured it was a bonus of sorts. She’d done good work.
He carried another coffee with him, a plastic lid over the Federate’s logo on the white waxed cardboard. He passed other company employees in the corridor, people bustling on their way to work. White uniform clothing with the Apsel logo above the left breast.
These assholes need to not shop at the same store. Mason checked his own jacket and darker denim jeans, mylar and Kevlar invisible beneath the cotton. The utility of the clothing was more important than almost anything. Mason still wore the company’s small falcon on the collar of his jacket. It was always best to show a little flair when meeting with the big man.
He waited at the elevator with a small huddle of people. They eyed him nervously; they all had different haircuts, some with face tattoos or glowing holos under the epidermis, others making their own statement with perfect, clean skin. Their eyes all held a variation on the same emotion: caution through to outright fear. They might not know him, but they knew what he was. A company man’s company man.
Corporate acquisitions and recovery. Or a trusted killer, if the situation demanded it.
The elevator arrived with a soft chime. Mason stepped inside. “Anyone else?”
No takers. The doors closed, cutting them off from view. It might even have been justified; Specialist Services had a brand of its own. Still. “Fucking robots.”
“Hmm?”
<
br /> “Not you, Carter.” Mason shifted the cup to his other hand.
“You’re running late.” Carter cleared her throat. “Again.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Tired of what?”
“I don’t know. Being treated like a leper.”
“There hasn’t been a case of leprosy in over fifty years.”
“You know what I mean.”
Carter paused before answering. “It’s a bit different in … my team.”
“All doing the same work?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re lucky.”
Mason could feel her smile through the link. He imagined it with some genuine warmth touched by about five percent sadness. “I don’t know. You get to see more people than I do.”
“It doesn’t count if they’re all assholes.”
“Fair enough. Gairovald’s been held up.”
“So I’m not late.”
“You’re still late. He’s later.”
“It’s his dime.” The elevator stopped, sliding open in front of him. Mason stepped out, people parting for him like a terrified Red Sea.
Mason walked down a long corridor, plush wool carpet — real — soft under his boots. He reached an open reception area. A white wooden coffee table rested between two leather couches. A black reception desk sat further in, the spread wings of the Federate’s logo embedded slate in the wood. There wasn’t anything subtle about it. This is our house.
He nodded to the woman behind the desk. “Nancy. How you doing?”
“You’re late, Floyd.” Her face may as well have been the same stone as the Federate logo, but a smile twinkled in her eyes.
“I’m doing great! Thanks for asking. How are the kids?” Mason put the coffee on the desk in front of her. “I brought you a little something.”
“You’re an angel — but you’re still late.” Nancy reached for the cup, popping the top and inhaling. “I don’t know how you still get real coffee.”
Mason looked at the cup in her hands, thinking about where it came from. About what it cost to get it. I’m no angel, sister. We both know that. There was a convenient lie for these situations, and he tried it on with a smile. “I know a guy.”
“You want to share the name of this guy?”
“Not really.” He winked at her. “If you can go right to my supplier, well hell. I won’t get favors ever again.”
She tossed her hair, the smile reaching her mouth. “You can go in. He’ll be along in a few.”
“Thanks, Nancy.” He stepped past the desk, then looked back at her. Damn, but Gairovald has taste. “See you later.”
“Sure, Floyd.”
Mason leaned back in a big leather chair as Gairovald Apsel walked in. He was an average height, average sized kind of guy. Despite that, life resonated from him like warmth from the sun.
Expensive suit. Perfect teeth. Hair salon-perfect. Gairovald wore the signature flower on his breast pocket — something pink today — as the man walked up to the big boardroom table.
The pair of guards who dogged his steps wore suits color matched to his. Their ebony skin was clean of blemishes or tattoos. Anonymous. Men who could be disavowed, if that’s what was needed. They took up position either side of the door, their eyes locked on Mason.
We might be on the same side, but we’re not on the same team, right?
“Mason.”
“Sir.” Mason stood, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s a rare privilege to talk with you in person. What can I help you with today?”
“That’s one of the things I like about you.” Gairovald sat at the other end of the long table, gesturing with a hand. There was almost no trace of his German accent. “You’re to the point. That, and you get results. Please, sit.”
Mason let a small smile onto his face, sitting back down. When the boss tells you to jump, you jump — sitting’s easy. “Thank you, sir. I’m just happy that I’ve been able to help with some of the company’s … opportunities in the past.”
“Opportunities.” Gairovald showed his perfect teeth. “You have a curious way of thinking. I read Carter’s report on this morning’s incident. You handled it well. However, it’s not the end of it.”
“Sir?”
“Are you aware of our research division?”
“It’s one of our leading assets.” Mason quickly scanned the numbers Carter served to his overlay. “Some thirty-four thousand employees and change. Mostly working on new initiatives. I don’t have details. It’s above my classification level.”
“Something’s run sour.” Gairovald pursed his lips. “A rather unique piece of research has been stolen.”
“Stolen.” Mason tapped his fingers against the vast mahogany of the table. It was almost certainly real wood. “I see. This something is related to this morning’s endeavor?”
Gairovald smiled with his mouth, not his eyes. “That’s right.”
“You asked us to find and recover the technology causing the hallucinogenic atmospheric effect.” Mason coughed. You need to get back in the chair. Get it done right this time. “Not much was left at the site we found, but there was clear evidence our tech was involved.”
“Our tech?”
“Atomic Energy.” Mason frowned. “What I don’t get—”
“Yes,” said Gairovald. “Atomic Energy. Someone’s been selling my property, Mason. Someone I employ, someone I’ve housed. Put food on their table, clothes on their back. They want to steal from me.”
Mason nodded. “I’m guessing it’s big.”
“Why’s that?” Gairovald straightened his cuffs, looking Mason in the eyes. “Why do you think it’s big?”
“Because of them.” Mason tipped his head to the guards on the door. “Because of you.”
“You understand the situation.”
Mason laughed. “I don’t pretend to understand anything, sir.” He leaned forward, putting a hand against the table. “I don’t need to. It’s not my job. But I promise you, if someone’s stealing from the Federate — stealing from you — then I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Gairovald looked at Mason in silence for a few moments. “I think I made the right choice. You’re very dedicated.” He held up a hand, forestalling Mason. “No, don’t interrupt. Your file speaks for itself. It’s time to up your classification level. There was a classified … R&D project within Apsel.”
“The rain?”
“The atmospheric effect, yes.” Gairovald looked at a cufflink. Mason’s optics zoomed in, showing an intricate gold affair inlaid with diamonds. “The atmospheric effect is a … byproduct.”
Mason thought that through. “A byproduct?”
“Yes. When you were sent to acquire the technology behind the atmospheric effect, we didn’t know we already had it. The R&D project made no reference to this sort of outcome.”
“That’s a pretty big byproduct.” Mason leaned back in his chair. “R&D didn’t know about it?”
“It’s not quite that simple.” Gairovald held Mason’s gaze. “It’s one of my earlier projects. It’s been mothballed for quite some time. It has significant future value to the Federate.”
Holy shit. Gairovald hasn’t done the heavy lifting on the science in thirty years. Mason nodded. “Okay, sir. So. New mission?”
“New mission,” agreed Gairovald. “Different outcome.”
“You want me to catch the thief.”
“No.” Gairovald stood, walking toward the door. He turned back to Mason. “No one steals from me. I want you to kill the thief.”
Mason stared out the boardroom window for a long time after Gairovald left. He pressed his hand against the cool glass, the cloudscape stretched out below him gray and ugly. “Did you get that?”
“Of course.” Carter sighed. “Why do you treat me like an idiot child?”
“For all I know, you could be an idiot child.” Mason’s lips twitched. “A savant, I mean.”
“I get it.�
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“You know. Like a chess master.”
“Mason? I got it.”
“Speaking of getting things. Have we got a file?”
An icon flashed onto his overlay, information slipping over the uplink. “Of course,” said Carter. “Some of this is from Gairovald’s office.”
“Some of it?”
“I don’t spend my days surfing the Internet for porn, Mason. I do research.”
“I don’t know where you find the time.” Mason flickered through the information. “Something’s not right.”
“Something in particular?”
“Sort of.”
“That’s not very particular, Mason. Do you know what ‘particular’ even means?”
Mason highlighted a section of information. “Here.”
Carter was silent for a moment. “I see it.”
The information Mason had highlighted was an image from the old hotel’s basement, when—
Dead hands reached for him, the Tenko-Senshin screaming back at the darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, and he stumbled back as parts of people fell and burned in front of him.
—he’d found the epicenter. “This one. The image is from the box.” Highlighted on the image was a charred piece of metal, the stenciled letters APSEL FEDERATE — ATOMIC ENERGY DIVISION still visible against the carbon scoring.
Carter was silent for no more than two heartbeats. “It doesn’t have the R&D logo on it.”
“You’re pretty quick for an idiot child.”
“This wasn’t mothballed research at all. This was live tech, taken from Atomics.”
“Maybe,” said Mason. “It doesn’t really matter though.”
“It doesn’t?” Carter sounded distracted. “I’m going to pull together a meeting between you and the department heads.”
“A meeting, sure. The thing is, I don’t care if the tech came from R&D, or from Never Land. Someone stole it. Mission’s clear on that. Even if it’s Peter fucking Pan, he’s going down.” Mason gritted his teeth at a memory that surfaced. Someone he’d trusted when he shouldn’t have.
Carter cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“About … your last handler.”
“Yeah.” Mason let a breath out, realized he’d been clenching his fists. “He made a bad call.”
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