by Tim Tigner
“Same thing with Allison?” Aria asked, her voice strained but steady.
“No. I strapped a canister of anesthetic under her seat and triggered it directly. I was in the car right behind hers. I’d phoned her agent with a fake urgent audition to get her going fast on the right road. She fell asleep and the laws of physics did the rest.”
“She was innocent!” Pierce shouted. “How could you kill that innocent girl?”
David wiped his lips with a linen napkin. “None of us are innocent, Pierce. Twenty years ago, we killed Kirsten to keep our secret. This year we plotted to kill nine more people to maintain it. In another twenty years, we’d have done it again. Ad infinitum. We’re all mass murderers.”
Pierce grabbed the knife.
David looked directly into his bulging eyes. “And what are we giving the world in exchange?”
Pierce gritted his teeth, but stayed silent.
Startled by the sanctimony of David’s scathing accusations, Aria didn’t answer either.
“We’re not contributing anything,” David continued. “We’re living off old money. Collectively, our current lives aren’t worth a single one of those we’re stealing, much less the tens and hundreds and thousands that we’d eventually have sacrificed. And for what?”
Again David paused.
Again neither answered.
“Have you ever stopped to ask yourself why we deserve to be immortal? Why we should be at the apex of human evolution? Look at us. Look at what we’re doing. We’re contributing nothing.” He brought his fist down, rocking the table as at long last he let a little of his rage release.
“It’s not a question of deserving,” Pierce said, his own anger barely in check. “We’re doing what people always do, and have always done. All people, throughout all of history. We’re seizing an opportunity.”
“Yes, we are. Is it making you happy, Pierce? Aria?” David swiveled his head like a tank turret as he released the verbal barrage. “Are you in better spirits than you were before I put Eos in your veins? Is that additional glee enough to outweigh the joy you took from the world when you replaced a fellow human being?”
As he studied their stunned faces, David got the impression that he might be breaking through. That his pointed questions and perfect logic stood a chance of hitting home.
“We don’t have to keep replacing people. We could go with the less secure solution, if that’s what this is all about,” Pierce said, practically spitting the words. “I don’t remember you taking a mighty moral stance before the big vote—when it would have been productive.”
“I do,” Aria said, her voice now soft with shock. “Three times David tried to dissuade us, but it was eight to one. So he gave in, and went along.”
“Better you had fought us then, in the open, than snipe at us now, in secret,” Pierce said. “You’re a coward.”
David took a deep breath, and willed his blood pressure down. He exhaled slowly, then spoke in a calm voice. “Immortality was a great experiment. But the data is in. We have twenty years’ worth. We were the best of society going in. Hard working, highly educated, well intentioned, Mensa members. Honest, forthright, and ambitious. Then we gained the ultimate prize. What happened? We stopped contributing to society and morphed into murderers.”
Pierce’s face faded from red to pale.
Aria started streaming tears. “You’re the killer. You killed Allison and Lisa and Camilla. Felix and Ries and even Eric, your best friend. You killed your best friend, David. First of all.”
Pierce hopped in before David could respond, his voice on the verge of hysteria. “The replacements are almost complete. Why now? Why not wait another twenty years? By then we’d all have lived average lifespans, more or less.”
David bowed his head. “I was afraid I’d weaken if I waited. Talking myself into taking your selfish attitude would be the easiest thing in the world. The day we voted in favor of replacements, I knew what I had to do. I’d brought this scourge on the planet, so it was up to me to eradicate it. I didn’t want to kill. I don’t want to die. But what I want is insignificant compared to the collective need. That’s what every hero understands.”
Aria gasped. “You think you’re a hero?”
“I think I have a lot to make amends for. Like Oppenheimer and Nobel. But even knowing that, I struggled. I procrastinated by devising elaborate plans, so everyone could pass painlessly while happy, rather than crouched in a corner hiding from a gun.”
“Why didn’t you just set off a bomb at the last meeting?” Pierce asked. “I’m sure you know how to build one of those.”
David turned to face the financier. “I considered it. In fact, that was my first impulse—albeit with something more elegant. But as I thought it through, I realized how important it was to spread our deaths around. A mass killing of affluent people like us would lead to an extensive investigation, increasing the odds that our special status would be discovered and our research ultimately replicated. Then some other group would be back where we started, endangering the planet. And we’d have died in vain.”
He turned to Aria. “As for Eric, I killed him first so I wouldn’t lose my nerve. I knew that if I murdered my best friend, I’d never go back—and the planet would be safe. So I did my homework, then secretly repacked his parachutes.
“Camilla was next. She inhaled a dose of anesthetic, and passed away in her sleep. And so on. You know the details.”
Rather than respond with words, Aria conjured up a gun. She probably had it strapped to the bottom of the table. That explained the name cards.
She pointed it at his chest with a practiced grip. “Pierce and I will be keeping your philosophical ramblings in mind—for the next thousand years.”
David noted her stance, then studied the black mouth of the unwavering barrel. The safety was off, and a little red flag indicated a chambered round. He wondered when she’d acquired shooting skills.
Aria read his mind. “All that practice with paper targets, but until this moment, I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to shoot a person when the time came. Now I know that I needn’t have worried. As I point this gun at your heart, the only thing I’m feeling is relief.”
69
Stellar
LESLEY HAD NOT REPLIED by the time Skylar and I returned to our room after dinner. We’d dined on seafood instead of Chinese, selecting a trendy beachfront restaurant with beautiful views and a vibrant atmosphere instead of grabbing takeout. All successfully charged to Tory’s Amex seconds before we skedaddled out the door.
While I was eager to hear if the CIA’s cached internet search would shed light on Aria and her island, the slow response was probably a blessing. Our day had been very long and incredibly momentous. It was time to get some sleep.
I wanted to climb beneath the covers beside Skylar, but hesitated to assume. And since our love-making tension-releasing sessions had been in her bed, I couldn’t climb into mine and let her decide. Hers was the de facto shared bed.
I decided to punt. “You can use the bathroom first. I’ll do a bit of research. Look into yacht charters.”
“I was thinking about a bath,” Skylar replied.
“Sure. Take your time.”
I heard the water start running and then the brushing of teeth, but the door didn’t close when the water turned off, and I didn’t detect the sound of Skylar settling into the tub. I looked over to see her standing in the bathroom door, wearing only a grin. “I was hoping you’d join me.”
I experienced an immediate capillary reaction. Before I knew it, I was kicking my shorts across the bathroom floor.
Refueled by our delicious dinner and once again unhindered by clothes, we kissed with the extreme enthusiasm of kids who’d never locked lips before, hands stroking and heads weaving and bodies bumping about. The first time I came up for breath, I lifted Skylar’s naked body onto the bathroom counter. It was scant and slippery but proved just the right height for joining bodies in a second locat
ion.
Our third act of love came to a swift conclusion. I wasn’t sure if it was practice or just my body signaling that the hour was too late to dillydally.
With her long legs still wrapped around my waist, I carried Skylar into the tub where I slowly dropped to my knees. That went well enough, but I ended up sloshing a wet wave onto the floor as I lowered us into a prone position, drenching our discarded clothes in the process.
While we attempted to get comfortable in the tiny tub, I looked into her eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re athletic.” She winked, and I laughed.
“That’s pretty convenient, having the tub topped off and waiting.”
“I agree. But I should have put a towel on the counter.”
Studying Skylar’s smile, I found myself thinking about the future. On impulse, I asked, “What do you want to do next?”
She gave me a Really, cowboy? look.
“I mean, after we’ve beaten these guys. What kind of work will you be looking for?”
She adjusted her position to better meet my eyes. “I wish I knew. By default, it would be something involving physical fitness. But the whole CIA scenario really turned me onto the idea of public service. I haven’t figured out how to unite the two yet, but when this is over, I’ll head out for a run and keep going until inspiration strikes. How about you?”
“That’s what I was supposed to be figuring out right now—on the motorcycle that’s rusting away at the bottom of a Ventura County ravine. I know I’m done with government work. For men of my experience, the other obvious employer is a big security firm, but I’m not drawn in that direction either.”
Skylar nodded knowingly. “They put Tory on the slippery slope.”
“Exactly. So, like you, I’ll need to give it a lot of thought. And quickly, given the bills that are about to come due.”
I shifted, uncomfortably. My legs were beginning to cramp. “This tub really isn’t big enough for two. We need to find a hotel with an oversized spa.”
“As long as Tory’s Amex is working, there’s nothing stopping us.”
I wasn’t about to pinpoint our overnight location by using the assassin’s credit card to reserve a room, but I kept that nugget to myself. Meanwhile, I was glad to have resolved my earlier question about the sleeping arrangement.
We toweled off, hung our sodden clothes to dry, and slid between the sheets. I snuggled up and she shifted toward a spooning arrangement. Fortunately I reacted fast enough to keep my lower arm free, facilitating the inevitable late-night rollover.
It never came. When I awoke, I was right there where I’d been when I closed my eyes.
Skylar’s breathing remained regular and deep.
I lay there, thinking about our new romantic arrangement. Could we keep it going? Or would it evolve as vacation romances inevitably did, with geography becoming a wedge? I didn’t know.
There was more to it than location, of course.
Skylar was a remarkable woman. Intellectually and physically I found her exceptionally attractive. But I was experienced enough to know that magnetism wasn’t powerful enough to forge a lasting relationship. Permanent bonds required similar preferences and perspectives, plus some everyday chemistry. No way to tell what that would be like until we spent some time in everyday situations.
We’d probably never get that.
For financial reasons, both Skylar and I needed to find jobs fast. What were the odds that those jobs would be in close proximity? Not very good.
I decided to ignore that depressing thought for now. My worry plate was already heaped with more than I could eat.
I slid from the sheets as smoothly as possible in an attempt to let Skylar sleep. It worked, so I grabbed my laptop and took it into the bathroom for some multitasking.
Lesley had replied. “Just one hit. Hope it helps,” was all she wrote.
I clicked on the attachment. It was an article from the Living & Lifestyle section of the Miami Herald, dated January 2, 2000. “When Five Stars Isn’t Enough.”
For those readers who didn’t score the golden ticket to Seven Star Island this New Year’s Eve, allow us to paint you a picture. Hosted by Aria Eiffel, widow of petroleum magnate Jacques Eiffel, the millennial soirée was one to make Julia Roberts swoon and Jay Gatsby blush…
My eyes dropped to the photo montage at the bottom, which included a beachfront buffet stacked high with seafood, dozens of black-tie and ball gown couples dancing beneath fireworks on an outdoor dance floor, and the regal hostess raising her flute of Champagne. That woman was Skylar.
70
The Price
ALTHOUGH HER ARM STAYED STEADY, inside Aria was trembling from a torrent of mixed emotions as she pointed her pistol at David. She was about to bring this nightmare to an end. Permanently and definitively.
Despite her bluster, she dreaded pulling the trigger. David wasn’t just a fellow human being; he was her friend.
She studied his face, looking for the madman’s sneer or some sign of aggression. She saw neither. Oddly enough, he didn’t even look scared. Or remorseful. Or worried. His grand plan had just failed and he was about to die, but his expression hadn’t changed since before she’d produced a loaded weapon. “Do you have anything else to say?”
He shrugged and spoke with a voice so level and calm that it sent a shiver down her spine. “I already pulled the trigger.”
“What are you talking about? You used gizmos and poisons, but never a gun.”
David adjusted his gaze from the gun to her eyes. “I couldn’t be certain that any of those would work, much less all of them. With Felix, for example, I bet on a compound fatally interacting with his heart medication. It was a gamble that paid off, but success wasn’t guaranteed.”
“What are you saying?” Pierce asked, his tone nervous, his steak knife poised to strike. Let him be the one to draw David’s blood, Aria prayed.
David leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “In Greek mythology, Eos the rosy-fingered goddess of dawn, opened the gates of heaven so the sun could rise.”
Pierce sighed and rolled his eyes.
David ignored him. “Eos was married to Astraeus, the god of dusk. Together they form the perfect team. She brought out the sun, and he put it away.”
Aria felt her stomach fill with ice. “You didn’t!”
“Didn’t what?” Pierce asked, his voice continuing to crack.
“As you’ll likely recall, our Eos works by protecting telomeres, keeping them from shortening. It allows cells to refresh without degrading, thereby halting aging. Astraeus, my more recent invention, does the opposite. It destroys telomeres, preventing cellular reproduction.”
Aria dropped her gun arm to her side.
David didn’t react to the reduced threat.
“You didn’t,” she repeated, knowing as surely as day becomes night that he had.
David slowly nodded. “At the last meeting. Everyone got Astraeus instead of Eos.”
“Are you telling us we’re dying?” Pierce asked. “I’m not sick. I feel fine.”
A wry smile creased the right half of David’s face. “There’s an incubation period as Astraeus spreads, but I’m sure you don’t feel fine. You’ve been experiencing gastrointestinal issues. I certainly have.”
“You gave it to yourself as well?” Aria asked, knowing it was true and yet unwilling to believe it. Any of it.
“I had some bad bouillabaisse back in Miami,” Pierce protested.
“Intestinal cells have some of the shortest life cycles. As do blood cells. You’re beginning to experience the rough equivalent of chemotherapy.”
“So we’ll survive it,” Pierce persisted. “Nobody dies from chemotherapy.”
“They would if the treatment never stopped. And Astraeus can’t be stopped. The damage is done. I’m afraid it’s about to get very painful.”
“Painful how?” Pierce asked.
“Picture victims of the Ebola virus.�
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Aria couldn’t believe her ears. She again raised her Ruger. “Why are you doing this? Why are you trying to scare us? What happened to your painless, go happy, humanitarian approach?”
David rocked forward again, almost causing her to pull the trigger. “It’s still available.”
Aria shuddered to think what that meant.
“If you’ll check the refrigerator, you’ll find a large vial of morphine hidden in a big jar of apple butter. I also left a bag of brown sugar in the pantry on my last visit. It contains five fat syringes.”
“Five?” Aria said, fixating on the incongruous number as her mind strained to find purchase.
“I wasn’t certain that Felix would pass or Lisa would flee.”
“What are you suggesting?” Pierce said, his left hand now rubbing the back of his neck while his right retained a knuckle-whitening grip on the knife.
David turned back to Aria, exposing the faraway look in his eyes. “It’s a beautiful day. You have a perfect pool and comfortable floats. Dismiss your staff and security guards with fat bonuses. Empty the island. Even the yacht captain and helicopter pilot. Send them all home.”
Aria felt faint. She dropped the gun and flopped down into her chair.
The Ruger clattered in Pierce’s direction, but he didn’t pick it up.
“Then what?” she whispered.
“Then we’ll finish this fine lunch, change into swimming suits, and drift.”
“Send the security home?” Pierce challenged, grasping at the last thread of hope. “You’d like that. How do we know this isn’t a trick?”
Aria struggled to retain her dignity while waiting for David’s reply.
“Besides feeling it in your gut?” David shrugged. “I’ll go first if you like. But as a doctor, I thought you might find it more peaceful if I administered the injections.”
71
Engage
SKYLAR AND I DECIDED to take a two-pronged approach to Seven Star Island. Our plan was to start covert and high-tech, then switch to casual and direct.