Little Deadly Things
Page 23
Kiley’s compact body cast a short shadow in the midmorning sun. She clenched her square jaw in frustration at what was becoming a hopeless assignment. She squinted despite vision enhancements that included a photosensitive nictating membrane, a third eyelid—biological sunglasses for her ice-blue eyes.
Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. Coleridge’s couplet was Kiley’s mantra. She repeated it while hurrying to the desal plant’s command center. What’s today’s screw-up? she wondered as she subvocalized a heads-up display. I’ll be dipped in turtle dung before I have another surprise like yesterday.
Twenty-four hours earlier, her staff panicked when the nano-controlled biocide levels at the plant dipped unexpectedly. The biocides killed off bacterial contaminants in Cerro Rojo’s water. Then, as now, Kiley scrambled out of her slumber to attend to the malfunction. As she watched, the ’cides returned to their normal levels for reasons that were inexplicable. An hour later, when her heart had stopped racing and she was drifting back into sleep, a second emergency summoned her from Morpheus’ arms. The desal filters had quit. Electric currents that animated the ion transfer mechanism still flowed, but it was as if the system had stopped listening to its programming. The temporary halt in production scared the bejeezus out of Kiley and her staff. Had it lasted much longer, the 30 million people in the arid cities and hills of northern Venezuela and the island nations of the Caribbean would get thirsty. And thirsty people become angry people—desperate and prone to violence.
Kiley cursed the woman who coaxed her to this hellhole from the security of a government job with National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. I don’t know who’s the bigger bitch, Kiley thought, Mother-freakin’-Nature, or Eva-freakin’-Rozen.
One year earlier, NMech’s Chief Executive Officer linked to Kiley in an abrupt attempt to prise her away from NOAA to become the Chief of Operations for the Cerro Rojo desalinization plant. An installation as complex as Cerro Rojo requires the steady hand of a manager who possesses a thorough understanding of the science behind the miracle.
She had turned Eva Rozen down. “I’m not interested in private industry,” Kiley had said, “I do good work here at NOAA.”
“You like petty people and petty science?” Eva had shot back.
Kiley shrugged. The gesture was invisible. Rozen waited until Kiley broke the silence.
“Look, I’ve been in government service for 18 years. Another 7 years and I can retire. NOAA may not be as exciting as your life, but I’ll have a nice pension and the time to enjoy it.”
“So it’s money?”
“Are you kidding? Government work and money do not a partnership make. No, I get to do good science. That’s the key, Ms. Rozen—science.”
“It’s Dr. Rozen. Chemistry and computer science. Harvard.”
“Well, Dr. Rozen, I have my science and a secure position. Why do I need your little startup?”
“Little startup? Any idea how much NMech is worth?”
“Ms.—excuse me—Dr. Rozen, I don’t follow financial reporting. So, no, I don’t know. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t see what you can offer that I’d want, and I have some petty science waiting for me.”
Eva simply stated a figure before Kiley could end the link. The number was an attention-grabbing number, a round number, a digit followed by zeros, as many zeros as there were digits in Kiley’s current salary. When the scientist hesitated, Eva lowered the figure. A second reduction, and Kiley capitulated. In the face of Eva’s irresistible force, there were no immovable objects.
A year later, the sugar plum fairies of fame and fortune no longer danced in Kiley’s head. This morning’s disaster? The desal filters had failed entirely. Not one drop of water was being generated. No one could find an explanation for today’s outage, nor determine when the filters might go back on line. This morning, a forlorn Kiley missed her former life in government service, with its scheming competitiveness, its venality—and its boring safety.
From 2,240 miles north, Eva Rozen observed Dr. Kiley’s frustrations. She smiled without mirth and entered the results of her observations into the Cerberus program.
23
___________________________________________
UNQUIET PHENOMENA
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2045
While Marta prayed for the Rockford victims, Eva paced in her office. She was restless. Her forearm itched maddeningly and she scratched it until the skin bled. The rhythmic hiss of her pant legs rubbing together as she walked was a whispering voice that further agitated her. Ssst-ssst. Ssst-ssst. Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?
It was impossible to concentrate. The din from the Table of Clamorous Voices overwhelmed her. The cacophonous shrieks and moans and cries, the accusations and taunts battered her sanity like a tidal wave falling on a seaside village.
Eva struggled to review the past forty-eight hours. An investigation of the explosion was in full swing and NMech’s records had been subpoenaed. The company was ‘a party of interest’ in the search for a cause of the blast. She’d instructed corporate counsel to cooperate. But NMech’s many layers of security slowed the company’s response which created the appearance that NMech was interfering with the investigation.
What to do about Marta and Jim? They suspected her, too. After the blast, Marta spoke of healing and her role as a bohique—voodoo doctor is more like it, Eva thought—but now Marta refused to talk or even make eye contact with Eva. She’d been cool and distant for the last year, blaming her for Dana’s growing pains. Marta had seen to it that Dana spent little time around her, a circumstance Eva found surprisingly distressing.
Now this. Was Marta a threat, a neutral, or an irritating ally? Marta’s support was unlikely, her opposition uncertain. Jim was a wild card. She had to be careful around him. She thought he was her friend, but he’d spurned her. Granted, she’d been acting a bit out of character, but everyone had ups and downs, didn’t they? And the boy, Dana—what could he do? Plenty, she thought. I know how well he jacks and ghosts. He’s like a kid brother, but now he’s under his mother’s control. Damn her interference! She’d planned to bring Dana into an executive role at NMech. Together, they’d be unstoppable. But now the boy could be the biggest problem.
She shook her head to clear that thought. I just have to finesse this, keep them all preoccupied until the investigation blows over. Just a couple weeks at the most.
She continued pacing. Every sound in her office was a chorus of voices, mocking her. Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?
Her desk was as bare as her thoughts, with only a white coffee flask and mug. She nudged these items into place—was that the third time?—to center them precisely along the upper edge of her desk. The walls and carpet were set to a milky white and gave the impression of congealed pabulum.
Coffee. She remembered the coffee. Even though the addition of neurochemicals enabled her to think faster, to work faster, to complete the bid, she’d had no chance. The damned bid was rigged! Now they all want to blame me for the explosion? Nobody insults me without paying a price.
She brewed a cup, adding carefully measured drops of the neuroactive concoction, and gulped it down. She was rewarded with a paralyzing stomach cramp and bit back tears. Finally, her heartbeat slowed and became regular. Her skin flushed. She could feel her thoughts reorganize. She was pacing faster now, nearly running. Her arms and legs and hands responded faster than she could ever remember. She felt good.
And the Voices sang in harmony, once again.
What’s the plan? She looked around her office. Her eyes fixed on Gergana’s brooch framed on one wall, a relic from, well, from before. Her attention shifted to a small terrarium on the credenza across from her desk—plants and flowers from around the world that provided medicines and recreational pharmacopeia for synthesis.
A second planter housed a pair of intertwined green and black vines. An ugly and useless gift from Marta. It was s
upposed to represent anger and grace, qualities that exist in everyone. Marta and her legends. Yocahu and Juricán. Give me a break. Who the hell does she think she is, preaching about her gods? She’d be nowhere without me. And what did the gods do for her father, rotting in a Mexican jail?
Eva paced. Then an idea struck. Would it work? Could it neutralize Marta and Jim? Yes! She calculated the moves and likely outcomes with the cold precision of a chess master. She stared into the terrarium and saw the vines as lambent branches of a flowchart rather than mere plant matter. The divisions and offshoots became the steps she would need to take. It would be straightforward. She’d jacked deep into the legal system before and she could do it again.
Eva subvocalized and as soon as a heads-up display appeared, she mouthed a few commands and found her target. Perfect. The man was accessible. She had to bring him to Boston, unnoticed. The office was too risky, but her home? Yes.
Leaving no tracks, Eva jacked into several secure databases, starting with a United States Department of Agriculture public information portal in Seattle. She ghosted through a half dozen others, soaring on currents of thought, leapfrogging and crisscrossing the country and leaving too many trails to follow.
What if Marta didn’t cooperate? That was possible. Oh-so-holy Marta, as if her own foibles made her a saint. If she doesn’t cooperate, then I’ll run the company myself and Dana gets a shot at management sooner than I expected. I’ll give Jim a second chance. He was a good friend. Maybe things will turn out differently this time...
Eva paced and scratched. What if the investigation into NMech led to Cerberus? Impossible. No one would find a link between Rockford and Cerberus because there was none. And Cerberus was secure. In the meantime, she would prepare for a special guest. She rubbed at the raw skin on her forearm. The damned itching wouldn’t stop. Never mind, I have work to do, accounts to settle.
It was time to let Cerberus off his leash. Time to cut off the leeches, starting with the soldier and the scientist and the tea man. Once she was certain of Cerberus, then all the thieves who’d stolen her time and her money would be on their own.
But first, she thought, it’s long past time to settle a personal account. It was a small matter, a point of personal pride. No one insults me with impunity. We’ll see who’s the runt.
Time for a reckoning.
24
___________________________________________
A GENTLE TOUCH IS ALL
FROM THE MEMORIES
OF DANA ECCO
The next time I saw Eva Rozen was almost like old times. She was playful in her own way. If she’d just caused a disaster that killed scores of people, then she didn’t show it. True, her skin was flushed, her hands trembled, and her eyes had a nervous tic, like she was winking at me over and over, but Eva was always unpredictable. Besides, we’d always gotten along like peas and carrots—until my mother pulled us apart, that is.
I was trying to come to grips with the disaster I’d just seen. None of this had made any sense to me. I was mature for my age, but a fifteen-year-old can draw just so much from experience. Even a fifteen-year-old who’s closer to sixteen.
I was alone in the conference room. My parents went home. I told them that I would take a P-cab back to Brookline. I heard the door open behind me. Even with my back to the door, I knew that Eva stood there. Everyone has a unique sonic signature, although hers is more like an absence where there should be a presence, like a chalk outline where a body had been. I sensed a small hole in the air currents that blew into the boardroom when the door opened. She displaced so little air that she might as well not exist.
She stopped just inside the door. Neither of us moved nor spoke for at least a minute. I was looking out the window and reached my hand up over my shoulder to offer an upturned palm, like a back-facing beggar. I held my hand loose, no tension in the fingers, and kept my gaze forward. Eva walked forward and slipped her hand into mine. The skin felt leathery and hot. We held hands for several moments, me with my back to her and Eva erect, looking over my shoulder. She subvocalized and the windows became mirrors. I was suddenly staring into the eyes of—of what? A murderer? A misunderstood friend? All I saw was anguish.
“You scared of me, Little One?” Her voice was uneven but her grip on my hand was as steady as a sailor on a tiller. I squeezed her hand once to signal that I wanted my own hand back. She didn’t let go but leaned over me and placed her other hand on my forearm. Her strength seemed to have grown and I was pinned in place.
“You think I did it?” I was still thinking over her first question, whether I was frightened by my mentor and friend. I got the feeling that Eva wanted an answer now. I had no time to ponder the day’s events.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Either you did or you didn’t.” She made no move to release me. “If you didn’t, then there’s nothing to be afraid of, right?” She shook her head.
“Answer the question. Do you think I caused the Rockford blast?”
“Eva, I’ve known you my whole life and I’ve seen you when you’re mad at somebody. Maybe you’ve even been mad at someone to the point where it was fatal. I don’t know. But I’ve never seen you hurt somebody who didn’t make you mad.”
“I’m not going to ask you again,” she repeated. My hand was beginning to ache in her grip. It was cards-on-the-table time.
“If you did, then you’re not the same person I know. So, I would say, no, Eva Rozen didn’t cause the explosion.”
Not good enough. “So, I’m crazy like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? My evil twin did it?”
“Oh, crap, Eva, give me a break.” That was better. “I’m not even sixteen years old. What do you want from me? Word games? Then do a crossword puzzle. You want a diagnosis? See a doctor. Now it’s Jekyll and Hyde? What, you’re suddenly reading fiction?”
“Funny,” she snorted. We were heading towards rapprochement.
“Tell me, yes or no. Do you think I blew up the Rockford plant?” I tried to turn around to look at her but her hand remained on my forearm and I remained in place.
“Eva, I don’t believe you blew anything up. But—you have been acting weird lately, and other people are going to look at you for Rockford. I hope you’ve got a good alibi.”
There was a sudden rigidity in her bearing. She pressed down ever so slightly on my forearm, relented and pressed again. Just long enough to catch her balance—or download a file to my datasleeve. A gentle touch was Eva’s style. She didn’t need to touch someone’s sleeve to jack it; it was simply part of her own gestural vocabulary. It meant, “Tag—you’re it.”
“You aim to repossess my hand?” I asked and wiggled my fingers in her grip. I pitched my voice low and calm. I looked down, submissively. If this was an Eva I didn’t know, if this Eva triggered the blast, then I was holding hands with a mass murderer.
She made her decision, gave another snort, and let go. “What would I do with your ugly old hand? Besides, I’m not done with you.” She sat down at the table next to me.
“What does that mean?”
“We both know that your mom’s been keeping you away from me. But we still have work to do, lessons to learn.”
“Don’t be mad at my mom, okay? Everybody’s mad at everybody else now. She needs to cut you some slack, but you need to be a little more...normal.”
“You say so.”
I think she intended her voice to be flat, but there was strain in it, pain as well. My left hand moved of its own volition to cup her face. She stroked my hand for a moment. Touching her felt good, despite the odd texture to her skin. I leaned forward with my eyes closed. Our foreheads touched and we sat in silent communion for what could have been just seconds or maybe minutes.
“Little One,” she said quietly. “I still have two important lessons for you but we have to be careful. Your mother is—”
“She’s afraid of you, is what she is! She doesn’t trust her own son!” I nearly shouted. My own emotions were still quite volatile.
“You know a lot of mothers, Eva?” I regretted the remark as soon I uttered it. Too late to pull it back.
Eva just looked at me for a long minute. I saw an entire childhood pass across her eyes. I saw hope and longing, disappointment and dispossession. Then anger. “One was enough,” she said, “and I know that good mothers make mistakes, but they’re always looking after their children. You got one of the best.”
“Fat lot of good it’s doing us right now.”
“Yeah, well get off your high horse, sonny boy. I have a plan.”
At that, I grinned. “A certified, grade-A Rozen Plan?”
“Exactly.”
She smiled back. Not a grin, not a grimace, but something tender that reached up into her eyes. Suddenly I just wanted her to hold me and make everything all right—like a mother does. I was confused, but beyond caring. She could have kissed me then, not a chaste kiss from a treasured aunt, but full on the lips and I would have been her lover. She could have hobbled me, and I’d have been her pack animal and carried the lifelong burden of grief she’d collected.
“Listen, Dana, listen carefully. This is important. Shit is going to hit the fan. You’re going to need help. I could tell you what to do, but you’ll learn better by figuring it out. So, I have two more assignments for you and then your schooling with me will be complete. You ace this, and there’s no stopping you.”