She reviewed the card; there was all of five minutes of Frey’s apartment on it. The scene was bracketed by Frey opening the window at the beginning and a jump cut at the end.
She sighed and played the five minutes she had, running the video back and forth and trying to read lips.
Frey opened the window and looked out. “. . . ains, do we bring her in?”
Frey was standing in front of Hofstadter, keeping Evi from seeing his response.
One of the unknowns, an old professor type, spoke to Hofstadter. He was in profile, and she could only make the words “stupid idea” and “a vacation.” Then the prof put his face in his hands and shook his head.
Price was facing the window and was only partially obscured by Frey. He spoke across Hofstadter, at the prof. “Doc, stick to—” Price leaned forward and she lost the next few words. When his mouth was visible again, she made out the word “xenobiology.” She rewound the video three times to get that word right.
Frey waved them down. He was still looking out the window. “Cool it. We can’t afford internal bickering.”
One of the ones she didn’t know, one dressed in an impeccable black suit, spoke up. She could barely see him from around the window frame. He waved his hands, but his lips were only in view for the phrase “I warned.”
Price turned a pleading look at the sky and said a whole sentence she could make out. “You and your fucking tachyons.”
“Shut up, Pr . . .” Frey turned around and delivered an inaudible tirade. Then he sat down, facing the five others across his black lacquer holo-table.
“Agreed,” Hofstadter responded to something Frey had said. Now that Frey was sitting, Hofstadter and Price were the easiest people to interpret. “But I am still against it.”
The suit said something with a dismissing wave of his hand. Evi wished he’d lean forward so she could see his face. The glimpses she was getting of his profile were tantalizingly familiar.
The suit’s speech, whatever it was, initiated a shouting match that started everyone talking over everyone else. Then the suit leaned into the frame to emphasize something.
She froze the frame and looked at him. She had seen his face before; he had been the man standing behind Hofstadter when she had called from the theater.
There they were, she realized, the majority of the people after her. This guy in the suit, Evi remembered Hofstadter calling him Davidson, Hofstadter himself, and the sniper, Gabe.
If Frey was sitting there, in the middle of it, why didn’t he do Gabe’s job and blow her away when he had the chance?
She looked at Gabe, standing in the background of the frozen scene. The sniper stood by the door and apparently contributed nothing to the conversation.
She rewound the shouting match and watched each face separately.
The suit leaned in to say, “—against bringing a nonhuman into the community.”
Price was responding. “—in on the beginning, Davidson—”
Hofstadter was saying, “—late date would be counterproductive—”
The prof was saying something out of Evi’s view.
Gabe remained close-mouthed.
Frey shouted them down, though Evi couldn’t see what he said. He started pointing around the circle.
He pointed at the suit, Davidson. She couldn’t see him, he’d leaned back out of the frame.
He pointed at Price. “Yes.”
Hofstadter. “No.”
Evi couldn’t see the prof’s response.
Gabe. “I abstain.”
Frey nodded and the video jumped to a night-enhanced picture of Evi leaving her apartment.
“That’s it,” she said and ejected the ramcard.
“What was that?”
She looked at the unlabeled ramcard, “I wish I knew, exactly.” The card caught the light, which rippled rainbows across its surface. “I also wish you had a better comm.”
Evi fished out the last ramcard she had, the one she’d found on the Afghani mercenary in the elevator shaft. It was dead black, with what appeared to be a serial number across the top of the card. It could be anything.
She slipped it into the card reader.
All the memo function would read off it was the message, “Property of Nyogi Enterprises. Authorized use only. Unauthorized use subject to prosecution, ten years imprisonment, and minimum fines of $500,000.” Everything else on the card was encrypted and copy protected.
“I’ll be damned. It’s a cardkey.”
Evi looked over her shoulder at Diana. “You’re right. The dogs work for Nyogi.”
Diana got up and stood behind the couch, putting her arms around Evi’s neck. Evi pressed the eject button on the remote, and football returned. She pressed the mute button.
She cocked her head back to look at Diana. “What?”
Diana kissed her on the forehead. “I’m just wondering what you’re going to do now.”
Evi closed her eyes and rested her head against Diana’s chest. “I’m not sure. I want to rest and heal up, but there are still people after me.”
“Nyogi?”
She nodded.
“They’ve treated you rudely.”
Almost as rudely as the Agency. “They started the whole mess I’m involved in.”
Diana’s hand brushed against her right breast, and Evi reached up and held it there. She was warm again, and she realized that a repeat of last night could happen very easily. As far as Diana was concerned, she was a lesbian.
“What are you going to do?” Diana asked again. “I might be able to unearth my old contacts from the forties. The moreaus might be sympathetic—”
Evi shook her head. “I need to find out why this is happening before I go running off to the Bronx.”
“Are you just going to walk up to a Nyogi exec and ask him?”
Evi opened her eyes and looked up at Diana. The veep she had liberated the aircar from had landed in a privileged space in the Nyogi tower. He had to be high up in the corporation. “Why not?”
She kissed Diana for giving her the idea. When Diana raised her head, Evi spit out some red hair and told her, “I can be very persuasive.”
• • •
A half-hour on a public comm gave her the veep’s name, Richard Seger. She had called his apartment—no way was she getting near that condo again—and been forwarded to Nyogi. She hung up before the call made it all the way through to the veep’s office. It had confirmed what she wanted to know: Seger was working this New Year’s Day.
At least he was in the Nyogi building.
Evi walked back to Diana’s Estival. Diana lowered the window as she approached. “Are you sure you want me to leave?”
Evi nodded. “You shouldn’t be near me when this goes down. No one can trace me to you. Let’s keep it that way.”
“The way you’re dressed, I’m glad.” Diana smiled as she said it. She was the one who had found the androgynous exec suit on such short notice. Diana had borrowed it from one of the warehouse’s tenants. Male or female, Evi didn’t know. The suit fit loosely, but it let Evi look like a junior corp type, and it hid the Mishkov.
Diana reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled something out. “Here, before I forget.” She handed Evi a pearl-handled switchblade. “It fell out of your jacket.”
“Thanks.” Evi slipped it into the top of the leather fringed boots she still wore. Then she leaned forward and kissed Diana good-bye. “You’ll hear from me.”
“I expect to,” Diana responded as she drove away.
So I’m a lesbian, Evi thought.
She put on her sunglasses and walked back to the limo she’d rented. She had wanted a less conspicuous vehicle, but the limo company was the only place open today that would take cash. She had rented the thing for only six hours, and her roll of twenties had been reduced to a small
wad.
It was closing on six o’clock, and she was parked across Eighth from the entrance to the Nyogi parking garage. She could see the Empire State Building, down 33rd. After its recent refurb it outshone the glass and metal obelisks that swamped it. Unlike the Chrysler Building, people had spent money to fix up the old skyscraper. Steam belched from a chuckhole a car-length from her limo and Evi had the cynical thought that the Empire State Building was the only thing people spent money to fix up in this town.
She passed the time by popping the cover off the dash and disabling the collision-avoidance systems on the limo.
The sky darkened from a crystalline blue to a dark purple. She kept watch on the exit from the garage, as well as on the passing traffic. For more than an hour, nothing left the garage, and the cars that passed her were, for the most part, taxis.
By seven-thirty the sky was dead-black beyond the streetlights. According to the dash clock, and Evi’s time sense, it was exactly seven-thirty when a car pulled out of the Nyogi parking garage. In the back, she could see her friend from the penthouse. She’d been right about him not being able to replace that Peregrine so fast.
Driving the Chrysler Mirador was a huge Japanese. Evi supposed that the chauffer doubled as a bodyguard. She let the sedan get a few car-lengths ahead of her on Eighth before she pulled the limo into the traffic behind it.
As they drove past the mid-forties, she passed the Mirador. She made sure she pulled in directly in front of the veep’s sedan. She slowed the car under the speed limit as they came to the red light at 56th. The light changed to green as she approached, so she accelerated.
As soon as the Mirador picked up speed to follow her, she slammed on the brakes in the limo.
The chauffer and the Mirador’s computer tried to keep from rear-ending her, but the snow and the distance between them made sure there was a satisfying if undramatic crunch. Both cars slid to a stop midway into the intersection, and every taxi in New York City used it as an excuse to lean on the horn.
Evi smiled to herself, cut the engine to her limo, and got out of the car.
“What’ve I done?” She put on her most innocent tone.
The driver getting out of the Mirador looked unsympathetic. The huge Asian was round, solid, easily 200 kilos and two meters. She couldn’t help but think of videos she’d seen of old sumo wrestlers. She smelled the taint of the modified testosterone in the driver’s veins. He had a bald scalp and a deep shadow on his chin that she knew no amount of shaving would eliminate.
He was a frank. She knew what brand, too. He was one of Hiashu’s early combat models. The first one they started playing glandular games with. They weren’t known for their intelligence.
“Lady, what the fuck did you think—”
She walked up to him, shaking her head. “Look, I’m really sorry about this. It’s my fault.” She put her good hand on his shoulder. “I’ll pay for the damages. Do we have to get the cops involved?”
She brushed his cheek, and she could smell a wave of overpowering lust sweating off the man. He couldn’t control it, not after what the Hiashu engineers had done to his gonads.
He looked indecisive.
She slammed her knee up between the man’s legs.
His eyes widened and he gasped. His arms began to move into a defensive posture, too late . . .
She kneed him again, and his eyes rolled back into his head. With her right hand she gave him a shove that guided his collapse. The man lost consciousness as he fell on his side in the snow next to the limo.
Oversized glands made a convenient target.
The Mirador’s engine was still going, and Evi walked to the still-open driver’s door and got behind the wheel. She backed away from the limo and turned onto 56th.
That went smoothly.
She glanced back at the veep, who was still looking back at the limo. He turned around to face her with a look of stunned disbelief. She smiled at him. “I won’t ask if you remember me.”
Evi headed for the Queensboro Bridge.
Chapter 13
The lower level of the bridge was undergoing repairs. The work had stopped for the holiday. Evi drove the Mirador through a few sawhorses and past a few detour signs to get on the lower thoroughfare, where she could have some privacy.
She drove past city vehicles, dumptrucks, and silent construction equipment. She slowed as she went on, and the Mirador started vibrating as she hit the old concrete. To her right, the guardrail abruptly disappeared. She shut down the car, leaving it in gear.
The only sounds were now the wind and the rumble of traffic driving by above them.
She drew the Mishkov and pointed it at the veep. “Get out.”
“But—”
“If you’re cooperative, we can get through this without any bloodshed.”
The veep spread his hands and let himself out of the back of the car. Evi followed, keeping the gun trained on him. With her left hand she reached into her pocket for a pair of handcuffs she’d liberated from Diana’s bedstand. It hurt her shoulder, but she wasn’t about to lower the gun.
She tossed the cuffs to the veep. “Cuff yourself to that.” She waved the gun at the scaffolding at the near edge of the hole in the side of the bridge.
The veep looked at the velvet-lined cuffs and arched an eyebrow.
“You’re right,” Evi said when he didn’t move immediately. “Maybe I should just shoot you.”
He moved, cuffing himself to the scaffolding. “What—”
Evi put the gun away and walked to the edge of the bridge where the guardwall should have been. She looked down over the East River. Then she walked over to the Mirador and picked up a loose steel reinforcing rod.
“What,” he repeated, “are you doing?”
“I’ll get to you in a moment,” Evi said as she slammed the windshield with the rod. She hit it a few times to clear out most of the glass. She did the same to the rear window.
She dropped the iron rod and turned to the veep. “Don’t want my trapped air keeping this thing afloat.”
She reached through the driver’s window and turned the wheel toward the hole in the side of the bridge.
“You’re not . . .” he said.
She pushed the Mirador toward the edge, until the front wheels left the pavement and hung over empty space. She looked down again; still no boat traffic.
She got behind the car and kicked it in the ass. There was a short scrape, and the rear end bounced a little. She kicked it again, and there was a longer scrape. The rear end bounced some more. This time the rear wheels came a centimeter off the ground.
She stood there and looked at the precariously balanced sedan. Then she looked at the veep, hooked her right hand under the bumper, and lifted. She rocked the car up to the point where the rear wheels were a meter off the ground, and gravity took over.
There was a sickening scrape as the chassis slid against the edge of the bridge. Then the rear wheels hit the edge and they rolled, silently pushing the car off.
A few seconds passed before she heard a splash.
Then she walked up to the veep, smiling.
He was staring at the river. “Someone saw that. They’ll call the police.”
“No lights on the car, no lights under here, and if someone did see, police response time in this city is fifteen minutes, minimum. Long enough.” She stopped a half-meter from the veep. “Now, will the cops find you cuffed to the scaffold?” She jerked her head in the direction of the river. “Or when they dredge the river for that car?”
“What do you want?” The veep hugged the scaffold and kept looking down at the river. The Mirador was drifting by, and sinking as it did so.
“In the aircar you asked, ‘Do you know who I am?’ I decided to find out, Mr. Seger.”
“All I do is acquire real estate for Nyogi Enterprises.”
<
br /> “Like the building you live in?”
“Yes.”
“Like other condos up and down Fifth?”
“Yes.”
“Like condos that got plastered with dead Afghani dogs?”
Seger choked. “Yes, yes, damnit.”
Nyogi owned her building. Nyogi had owned Frey’s building. This had been going on for a while. She was on the right track. Evi ran her hand across Seger’s face. He had a day’s growth of beard, and it looked like he’d slept in his thousand-dollar suit. He had lost all vestiges of his hostage training. She ran her fingers through his hair and balled her hand into a fist. She yanked his head back. “Why is Nyogi after me?”
“I don’t know.”
She leaned next to Seger’s ear. The smell of his sweat overpowered the East River. “You’ve spent over a grand on hair replacement. Don’t risk that investment by lying to me.”
Seger tried to shake his head. “I don’t.”
Evi let his hair go and pulled out the Mishkov. She placed the barrel on his temple. “Who instructed you to buy those properties?”
Seger swallowed and stayed silent.
She raised the Mishkov and whipped it across Seger’s face. “I’m not playing games here!” Blood trickled down from a cut she’d opened in the veep’s cheek.
“Okay . . .”
“Good. Now—” Evi ran the barrel of the Mishkov down Seger’s cheek, under his chin, and used it to turn his head to face him. “Who told you to acquire those properties?”
Seger swallowed again. He was drenched with sweat. He was even more scared than he’d been when she stole his aircar. Seger sputtered, “Hitaki, Hioko Hitaki.”
“Nice Jap name. Works for Nyogi?”
Seger took too long to answer again.
“That should’ve been easy, a simple yes or no question.”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
“That’s a stupid question to ask with a gun in your face. You’re stalling.”
Seger nodded violently. “Yes, yes, damnit. He works for Nyogi. He’s Special Operations—”
That was a familiar euphemism.
“He also works for other people, doesn’t he?”
The Moreau Quartet, Volume 2 Page 14