“What the hell is Eva up to?” Jim asked. There was no reply.
The NMech jet circled Boston’s Logan airport until the air traffic controller indicated a break in the commercial traffic and provided landing instructions. The pilot taxied to a private hanger and rolled to a stop. Rafael Cruz and his escorts were met by two more NMech security agents. He was frisked and warned again.
A woman’s voice said, “You’re coming with me.”
Rafael turned and saw a small woman. She directed the security men to flank Rafael Cruz, and then waved her sleeve at the ex-prisoner.
“Recording. Say hello to your daughter. She’ll get the datafeed soon.”
Eva Rozen’s Boston home resembled her office—functional and unadorned. The dwelling’s front door led to a stairway. At the third floor there was a narrow hallway that ran the length of the unit’s spine. The lighting was dim and consisted of old-fashioned light bulbs. There were no brightwalls here. She’d even removed all of the windows in the apartment and replaced the self-cleaning, insulated nanocoated glass with old-fashioned window panes. It had been difficult to find a glazier with ordinary panes, but Rozen had the resources to pay for the out-of-style glass.
The apartment had the same configuration as her childhood home. The first room off the narrow hallway was a small bedroom, unused. This would have been Gergana’s room. Next was the bathroom—cramped by the standards of Eva’s current wealth, but one that matched the dimensions of her childhood apartment. Then a small bedroom, just large enough for a standard-sized box spring and mattress with ordinary sheets, a thin blanket, and a pillow. Next came the master suite and, finally, the kitchen. That was reduced to a small cupboard and refrigerator, stocked with an assortment of the humble foods from her childhood: blood sausage, spicy salami, vinegar-dressed potato salad and mish mash—an olio of vegetables, eggs, cheese, and spices.
The master suite housed the sole concession to luxury, a smart-bed. It was king-sized, ironic given Eva’s stature, and appointed with nanofiber sheets that were as frictionless as graphite and touched her skin as lightly as a whisper. The smartbed adjusted to her fidgety slumber and matched her body temperature, degree for degree. Despite the luxury, she slept no more than three or four hours at a time.
The black-clad NMech security agents who escorted Rafael to Eva’s apartment spent little time observing their CEO’s odd decorating sense. She had used them often as bodyguards, and, on occasion, for special services of a more intimate nature. They delivered Cruz to the guest room. One of the agents subvocalized a quick command to the apartment datapillar and explained to Rafael that he was to remain in the guestroom. He was not to wander anywhere else in the apartment, save the bathroom, nor was he to attempt to remove the security collar unless he enjoyed considerable pain.
“How long am I going to be here?” he asked.
“Don’t know.”
“What about my daughter? Can I see her?”
“Don’t know. Stay put.” They guards rechecked Cruz’s security collar and then left.
Rafael sat down on his bed. It was even more uncomfortable than it appeared. He paced along the room’s length and looked at the bare walls. He’d had more freedom in prison.
The waiter brought coffee—Puerto Rican coffee, of course. “Our coffee was once considered the best in the world,” said Marta, proudly.
“Right, Mom. Everything is better in PR. Is this from Yocahu, too?”
Marta smiled at her son. “Dana,” she said with a gentle intensity. “Every growing thing is a gift from Yocahu.”
Dana had been watching Denise and looked thoughtful. “Mom, we need to get Denise out of Boston, away from Eva.”
“Why?”
“Mom, don’t you see? If Denise knows about whatever Eva is doing, and Eva knows that Denise knows, Eva isn’t going to let Denise alone.”
“So, she’ll fire Denise. We’ll rehire her.”
“It’s not that simple,” said Dana. “Do you think that Eva will let the only person with some proof of what she’s doing just walk away? Eva will, uh, get Denise out of the way.”
Jim spoke, addressing Denise, “My son can be melodramatic.”
“Dad! Listen to me! Ever since Eva took on the Rockford bid there’s been something wrong with her. I could see it even though you tried to keep me away from her. And every time I tried to talk to you about it, you would change the subject. You and Mom wouldn’t admit it. You think Aunt Colleen really had a heart attack? The last thing Eva said to me was that she had some ‘big mischief.’ What if Aunt Colleen was just the beginning?”
Turning to Denise, Dana said, “There’s something wrong with Eva. She’s going to see you as a threat, and she’s not going to let you just walk around knowing about what she’s done. You’ve got to go somewhere safe.”
“I can go home,” Denise said. “I live in Melrose.”
Marta nodded. “Dana, you’re right. And Eva will find Denise in Melrose.” To Denise, “My dear, I’m sorry, but you’ve stepped on a hornet’s nest. She must know that you figured it out.” Marta thought for a moment and then smiled.
“Denise, have you ever been to a rainforest?”
“You mean, like the Amazon?”
“Like that,” said Marta. “There are rainforests all around the world, but the gentlest one is called El Yunque. It’s the most beautiful place on earth, and I have family there you can stay with. No one will find you there.”
She touched her datasleeve and called up a display and was about to make travel arrangements. Dana put his hand on her sleeve.
“Mom, stop,” he said.
“Why? Abuela’s family can take care of Denise.”
“Mom, think. How’s Denise going to get there?”
“She’ll fly. I’ll pay for the ticket.” She turned to Denise. “Don’t you worry—consider this a work assignment. NMech will pay for your travel, and your time.”
“That’s just it, Mom. Eva’s going to find out. You’re still missing the point. Eva may be the richest woman in the world, but right now she may be the most dangerous person in the world. Let me do it. I can jack the airlines and get her on under another name.”
“Since when does my son jack anything?”
“Mom, I’m almost sixteen. I know as much about ghosting as Eva does,” he boasted. “Remember—she used to teach me. We kind of covered a little more than most kids.”
“How long have you been ghosting?”
“Can we talk about it later? Right now, let’s get Denise to Puerto Rico.”
“Puerto Rico?” Denise exclaimed. “I’m going to the Caribbean? You mean it?”
Dana turned to her. “Make up a name. First, middle and last.”
“Okay.” Denise thought for a moment. “How about Simone Ann Bening?”
“Where did you get the name?” asked Dana.
“After the Flemish artist, Simon Bening. I just borrowed it.”
“Better avoid a name from history. Eva will be looking for you already and her pillar will do a wide search. The searchbot will notice any coincidence and follow up on it. Let’s make it, uh, Barbara. Barbara Anne Benning. Anne with an ‘e’.”
“OK,” said Denise. “Barbara Anne Benning, Anne with an ‘e’ it is.”
Dana held up his hand. “Link your sleeve to mine.” She mimicked the gesture. Dana called up a display and subvocalized for a few moments. There was a half-second electronic conversation between the two sleeves.
“Okay,” he said at last. “You’re travelling as Barbara Anne Benning. Take the maglev from the South Station depot. You’ll be in Philadelphia in about two hours but you have to leave now. There’s a John Jays one block from the station there. I doubt that Eva will look for you in a high-end store that far from Boston. Buy yourself a carry-on bag and some summer clothing. I’ll use my ghost to link to Mom’s family in Puerto Rico and let them know they have a special guest on the way. They’ll pass the message to Abuela, Mom’s grandmother. You’re going
to love her.”
“Dana, I can’t afford John Jays,” Denise said.
“Don’t worry. You have an open account there now. Don’t try to link with Mom or Dad because Eva will find you.”
“Can I call my neighbor to take care of my cat?”
“Yes, but don’t say where you’re going. We’ll deal with Rex later, after this is resolved. Until then, you can link with my ghost account. It’s already on your sleeve. Anytime you link to me, start by saying, ‘Abuela says hello.’ Don’t trust anything you think is from me unless I start by asking about Abuela’s health. If you’re in trouble, say that Uncle Roberto says hello.”
Marta interrupted. “Dana, my uncle died three years ago.”
“That’s the point, Mom. You know that and I know that, but Eva won’t because that part of your family doesn’t use pillar-and-sleeve tech.”
There was a hurried round of hugs. Barbara Anne Benning hailed a cab for the train station. She turned to the family that had befriended her. “Remember this. It’s important. If you find the pillar that Eva is using to control the NMech accounts, look for some code that would put a hold on customer accounts for nonpayment. Look in the accounts receivable programs. Normally, it’s the credit department that places a hold. But look in receivables and you’ll find her backdoor into the system. And thank you for everything.”
She turned and looked at Dana. “If you were about ten years older...”
He blushed.
Then Barbara Anne Benning, née Denise Warren, stepped into a cab and disappeared into the Boston traffic.
Marta looked at her son. “I’m proud of you, but when this is over, we’re going to have a little talk about ghosting. Let’s get home now. I’ve got something that will help.”
Eva arrived home three hours later. Rafael called out, “Hello? Somebody here? I’m hungry. Can I get out?”
Eva walked to the guest room-cum-cell. “Hold still,” she said. “I get you something. Later, you will see your daughter. Maybe. Do what I say and Marta and your grandson will be okay. Don’t cross me or all three of you have great pain.”
Eva left and returned with food and water. “Eat up. I’ve got work to do.”
She returned to her office and thought for a few minutes. How the hell did that accounting clerk stumble onto Cerberus? What did she tell Marta and Jim? This on top of the Rockford investigation? I need that complication like I need a stump.
Eva started to pace. Her arm itched again. She put on a piece of medical cloth to deaden the sensation and to repair the skin where it had been rubbed raw by her scratching.
“I need to hold them back for a while.” She was talking out loud, addressing no one in particular. She touched her datasleeve. “This will do quite nicely.”
A status light on the datapillar she called Cerberus turned green. She called up her display and subvocalized. Then the light turned from green to red.
The Great Washout had begun.
28
___________________________________________
THE GREAT WASHOUT
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
WAZA NATIONAL PARK, CAMEROON
PARAGUANÁ PENINSULA, VENEZUELA
BADULLA, SRI LANKA
MARCH 4, 2045
Halfway to their home in the Boston suburb of Brookline, Marta’s sleeve pinged an incoming link from Eva Rozen. It was tagged “urgent.”
“I just got a link from Eva,” said Marta. She reached for her sleeve but Dana put a hand out to stop her.
“Wait until we get home,” he said. “Whatever she wants, let her stew. She’s had plenty of time to plan. Let’s figure out how to respond.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at a rambling Federal-style home in their Pill Hill neighborhood, a two-story white house with black shutters. Fir trees dotted the front yard. The driveway passed the front door and dog-legged back to a large, well-maintained garden, now lifeless in the Boston winter. Theirs was one of the first homes built in what had been farmland nearly four-hundred years earlier. A wooded area abutted the residence, and beyond that, the ponds, brooks, and culverts that connect the Muddy River to the Charles River.
They left their scarves and coats in the mud porch and headed for the living room. Dana touched the wall and pressed gently. The walls, ceiling, windows, and floors radiated heat and the room was comfortable in moments.
Floor-to-ceiling windows covered the living room’s length and offered spectacular views three seasons of the year. Today the winter view was dreary. A walking trail through the wooded area behind the house looked like a ragged streak of mud drawn across the frozen landscape. There were no robins, no crocuses, no tender green shoots. The first signs of spring were hiding, well aware that Boston winters could last for months. Snowstorms in April were not regular but not uncommon.
The family sat on chairs arranged in a grouping around a low, oval-shaped walnut coffee table.
“Mom, quarantine Eva’s message before you open it,” said Dana.
Marta pointed her sleeve to the pillar and transmitted Eva’s message. The pillar would sequester any suspicious data to ensure the integrity of their sleeves and the house systems.
“My son, the security expert,” Jim grinned.
“Dad, it’s what I do. Let me open the file,” said Dana. He stared into a heads-up display and began to subvocalize. “It’s a vid feed. I don’t see anything hidden in it but I’m going to have the dumb pillar display it just as a precaution.”
The dumb pillar was not connected to any house systems, or to anyone’s sleeve. Its function was entertainment, to project films, holos, vids, and music. Dana subvocalized again and the pillar emitted a beam of light. The rainbow holographic transmission focused in the center of the room. The image was a bit grainy suggesting that the recording was created on the fly. A plain room appeared, with a simple bed in the background and a man of moderate height in the foreground. His mahogany brown skin, black eyes, and salt and pepper hair looked out of place in wintery Boston. Dark wrinkles were evidence that he had spent years in the sun without anti-UV enhancements. He wore a simple cotton tunic, a security collar—and a frightened expression.
The man in the recording was looking ahead. “I remember you. You were with my daughter. Is she okay? Is that why I’m here?”
They heard Eva’s voice, “She’s fine. You see her soon enough.” Then the field of view expanded. Jim and Marta and Dana could see two black clad NMech security men flanking the man in the video.
“Oh,” said Marta, very quietly. “Is that my father?” She stared at the holo for several long moments and burst into tears. “Dios mío!” That’s my father! How? I don’t understand. He’s supposed to be in prison.” She started to crumple. The stress of the past several days had taken its toll on Marta’s health.
Jim and Dana rushed over to catch her. Dana pointed with his head and said, “The sofa. Put Mom on the sofa.”
The vid feed of the holo cut off. Eva’s features replaced Rafael’s. Her voice was strained, agitated, her speech reduced to simple thoughts. “Marta, you owe me. You owe me lot. I keep Jim out of jail. I make you rich. I help your poor. I get your father out of prison. Now he is here. You must do what I say. I mean it.”
They watched in sickened horror. Eva had been friend, mentor, and colleague for years. She’d been a difficult friend, to be certain, but she maintained a unique brand of loyalty. Now she was changed. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her hair was unkempt, unwashed. Her recent tics, jitters, and odd mannerisms had progressed to jerky movements, nearly uncontrolled, as if she were a marionette in the hands of a palsied puppeteer. She alternated between brushing non-existent bits of lint from her clothing and scratching hard on her left arm.
Eva’s voice rose. Normally flat and uninflected, it was shrill and unsteady. “Forget police. I stop them anytime. You blame me for Rockford? Soon NMech gets Rockford. We get everything. I reorganize NMech. I get rid of waste. Stay away or I hurt your father. Stay out of my way
.”
The link ended abruptly.
“What the hell?” said Jim.
“My father,” said Marta.
“He looked scared, but healthy,” said Jim.
Marta’s eyes welled with tears. “I’ve lived with the fact that I might not see him again, at least not for another decade. But that was him. If Eva got him out of prison now, why didn’t she do it sooner? When she was still, well, sane?”
Jim wrapped his wife in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed.
Dana stood quietly. When his mother’s cries subsided, he walked to the tall windows and stared out. Without turning back, he asked, “I wonder where Eva has him. Did either of you recognize where the vid was shot? Did anything look familiar?”
“No, nothing,” said Marta. “But did you notice Eva’s speech patterns? The syntax? Even her accent is returning. I don’t like this one bit.”
“There’s something about the vid I can’t quite put my finger on,” said Dana. He turned away from the sad view of dirty snowdrifts and mud—and touched the window to darken it. He said, “Let’s see the vid again.” He subvocalized and Rafael Cruz appeared once more. They could see off-white walls in the background, the corner of a bed and the edge of a window. Once more, Eva delivered her tormented edict.
“She looks terrible,” said Marta. “Her left arm is bleeding. She’s scratching herself raw.” Marta subvocalized and accessed information in her medical database.
“Why is she doing that?” asked Dana.
“Some of the medications for personality disorders can cause itching. I’m guessing that she’s self-medicating in some way. Maybe it’s induced some kind of mood disorder, like BPD.”
“What’s that?” asked Dana.
“Borderline personality disorder. It’s a prolonged disturbance of the personality. A person with BPD can experience mood instability—”
“That’s our Eva,” said Jim, “But she goes a wee bit beyond instability.”
Little Deadly Things Page 26