The Big Wheel

by Scott Archer Jones

Sibyl said, “So you got it fifth hand.”

  “Best kind. Jerry blabbed to family and, therefore, to the whole neighborhood that he’s a sergeant in a muscle squad. This squad pretty much does what it wants to anyone it’s pointed at—and someone else has to clean up afterwards.”

  Robko said, “That sounds like a possible.”

  “It’s more than possible, it’s probable. His captain is a merc named LeFarge. Jerry says LeFarge is the tame hitter for a rich man named O’Brien. And this Steward works for O’Brien too.”

  Sibyl said, “Oh. So Steward is a direct danger to us.”

  “Not the way he talked. He’s much slicker and softer than someone who runs a private army, different background altogether.”

  Robko wrinkled his face up. “That’s worrisome. I have to know more.”

  “That’s all I have.”

  “Not from you. From this Steward.”

  ***

  College towns need their beer halls and their taverns, cheap eateries with cheap booze. In the evenings, Thomas combed the college bars for the man and the woman, without much luck. In two nights he ran through the entire string Ithaca had to offer. He admitted to himself the University town felt quite homey—not Zlata’s feel at all.

  But he found one bar that matched. It didn’t have that Ithaca Ivy-League squeakiness but ran more to urban angst and anger. Thomas did his “looking for a friend” there, but got laughed down. He resolved to stay until closing, to see if Sibyl and Robko showed—it had worked at the Cosmic Kitty… knock on wood.

  ֍

  Robko showed, all right, but on a different side of town. He suspended himself from the roof of the hotel in an improvised climbing harness, a rope taken from a Catholic garden shed. Slipping down the face of the building, he counted three floors—he remembered a time in Philly when he had ended up on the wrong floor in the wrong office. Dropping onto the stunted balcony, he knelt and inserted first a screwdriver and then a crowbar under the sliding glass door. Defeating both the lock and a charley bar, he lifted the door off the rail, pivoted it inward, and scrambled in through the thin triangle that opened to the side. With a bit of grunting and one pinched finger, he got the door back on its bottom track.

  He opened the door, and Sibyl slipped in from the hallway. “Did you bring the pizza?”

  She handed him a pair of yellow cleaning gloves. “You gozo. Always the smart remark. What can I do to help?”

  “Admire me while you stay out of the way. Sit on the couch or on the bed. I’ll search the place.”

  First he sorted through Steward’s clothes, felt through the seams and pockets. Then he moved on to the toiletry items.

  She bumped him, crowding up against him in the palatial bathroom. “What are you looking for?”

  “For memflashes, drugs, of course, and weapons. Always disarm your enemy.” So close together it could have been a sack race, they moved back into the suite’s living room. He shuffled through a few scraps of paper on the desk—meaningless—and took out every drawer in the place to check for anything taped on the bottom. He stood on a chair to inspect the top of the armoire and peeked behind every painting. “Saved the best for last.” He moved to the probable target, a safe bolted to the floor of the walk-in closet.

  He said, “This will be too simple. Why bother locking it at all?” He inserted a length of air-conditioning hose into his ear, held it against the safe face, and dropped the tumblers in under a minute. Opening the door, he leaned back over his shoulder to wink at her. “This is it. I’ve got his desktab and some files.” He handed them out to her.

  She carried the files out to the living room and laid them on the coffee table. “There are three. One’s labeled Isobel Dupont. Another is a double header that stars you and me. The big one is a file from a research office stamped ‘secret’.”

  “I’ve got the Dupont file. You take us on first. What do they know?” He flipped through the Dupont file.

  “Three good photos… one of you and two of me, as a blonde and as my natural brunette. Also photocopies of drivers licenses, two for me and three for you.”

  “Three?”

  “Zlata, Boxwood and—wait for it—Abernethy. They must know about the Cumberland. What are these numbers?” She showed him a page.

  “That’s bad. They’re bank accounts. They’ve burned my money. They’ll either take it or freeze the accounts.”

  “All your money?”

  “Of course not. Just most.”

  Sibyl asked, “What do you have in your file?”

  “I’ve got two photos and a Canadian driver’s license. The license is for this Isobel Dupont. I know the people in the photos.”

  “Who are they?”

  “One of the photos is my boss on the O’Brien job, the Gray Man. I flip it over and ta da, it says, ‘Carl Dupont’ on the back.”

  “So the name of your boss turns out to be Dupont. Doesn’t help, outside of the fact it tells me you’ll work for strangers.”

  “I already knew the name. He had a girl at his place who never introduced herself. I always thought she was his steady squeeze. This is her photo and the back says ‘Daughter—Isobel Dupont.’ The two misled me.”

  “Fancy that. Why’s this important?”

  “He called me the night they hit his place, just as LeFarge kicked the door in. He asked me to find this girl and take her to wherever she told me.”

  “But you never found her.”

  “Doesn’t look like Steward has found her either.”

  Sibyl leaned over the table and peeked at the third folder as he opened it. “What’s the final file?”

  “This one is important. Let me read it through; then I’ll summarize. You photograph each page on my burner phone as I hand it to you.” They spent fifteen minutes scanning through the fat file.

  Robko said, “Comes from O’Brien’s VP of Research. He’s reporting on a new device they got when they bought up a lab. It’s never been patented or gone to the FDA.”

  “Well?”

  “My little box of electro-drugs turns out instead to be a hugely compressed memory device. It works by placing tiny charges across a network of powder. They use this device to store both the contents and the neural map.”

  “Of what?”

  “The human brain.”

  She snorted. “So you stole—and then lost—the world’s only cyborg?”

  “No, no, it isn’t a cyborg unless you hook it up to something. It’s an archived mind.”

  “Whose?”

  Frowning, he waved his hand. “I don’t know. The interesting thing is there are two more in existence, but only two.” They both stared at the photo of the device. Not a vial of a super drug… something much, much bigger.

  She bumped him back into action. “There is the desk tablet left to go. Let’s download his files.”

  “We’re hosed if he uses an old-fashioned password lockout. We don’t have his code or the time to crack it. I’ll have to steal the tablet.”

  She caressed the surface, and it flickered into life. “Just as bad. He’s got a fingerprint lock.”

  “Hmm, that’s actually good.” Robko sloped off to the bathroom and opened up the kitbag. “He’s got athlete’s foot—probably a gym rat. There’s a bottle of foot powder here. I also have a water glass and….” He cupped powder in the palm of one hand and with a sighing breath, scattered it onto the glass as he rotated it. “I have all four fingerprints and a major smudge where the palm touched. The thumb is smudged. This one is an index finger. Check the desk for some tape.”

  Sibyl reported, “Tape, stapler, stationary, labels. You never stocked your place this well.”

  He brought the glass to the coffee table, and she brought the tape. “I get one shot at this.” He lifted the print onto the tape. “Wake up the screen.”

  She flicked a finger. He placed the tape over the icon of a fingerprint and rubbed it on. The screen unlocked; the pad said, “Welcome back Thomas.” The pad’s voice was a
rich and fruity one, vaguely English and definitely female.

  Robko wasted no time. Sliding a plastic box the size of a cigarette pack out of his pocket, he directed the pad, “Find new wireless device. Connect. Copy all personal files.”

  In five minutes they had done the job—a simple matter to restore the room and slip out into the hallway. Robko’s head sang; he hummed the monotone tune. “I tell you Sibyl, we’re finally on the right side of this fight. With what we know, and what we can learn from Steward’s files, we can go on the hunt—not just get chased until we’re caught.”

  “Hunting beats running for the rest of your life. Let’s do it.” She took his hand, just a couple wandering down the corridor of a hotel. She said, “God, this makes me hot.”

  “Holding hands?”

  “Gozo. Stealing stuff. I could whip your pants off right now.”

  They took the elevator down and ambled through the lobby. “I tell you what. Let’s stop in the bar before we pick up the bike in the alley. I’ll buy you a drink, and, just to be fair, I’ll bury a yellow to start a buzz.”

  She grinned like a ten-year old shoplifting candy. “There’s no booze at the camp. You’re on.” They sauntered into the hotel bar of the man they had just robbed.

  Chapter Twelve: Ashes of the Earth

  Thomas, it’s Angie here.” He could see her perched on the corner of her desk leaning over the phone. She looked office-sleek in a double-breasted blazer and her trademark silk shirt.

  Thomas lolled on the couch in his suite, in the same corner Robko had occupied twelve hours before. “Ah, you called to console me in my shame. I just got off the iMob with the Governor. He wants more progress, and I have none.”

  “Of course. You expected patience? Tell me about the priest.”

  “I wasn’t very smooth. He vigilantly protected his friend and sounded rather sanctimonious about it. I still don’t know if Zlata is here.”

  She shrugged. “How about the bars? Has your SoHo trick worked again?”

  “No, but that was always a long shot.” Even so, he had counted on it. His luck may have soured.

  She frowned. “Really? Leaves you only the priest.”

  “I hurried up to Ithaca because of Father Mirko, and he’s why I stay. How about on your end? Any other names panning out?”

  She gave a sigh. “No, just depressingly good news about his classmates. It’s a testament to life. Most of these kids, even the bad ones, grew up to have babies and pay taxes. We have a small running list of hard-to-find people, of course, and we’ve just begun the last five hundred. But no prize yet.”

  Thomas winced and shook his head. “Not what a man with a hangover and hearing impairment wanted to be told.”

  Her smile flashed out like sun from behind a cloud. “If you think I feel sorry for you because you spent last night in a bar, forget it. I’ve got some good news. Garland caught me in the elevator, all very casual. I think he timed it to bump into me.”

  “And?”

  She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “He wanted me to know Sibyl still has her vidi. She turns the phone on and off, but she does use it. Beauty and the beast effect, if you ask me.”

  “The beauty...?”

  “You were right. She’s in Ithaca.”

  “And the beast part?”

  She frowned, lines chasing across her forehead. “Garland provided this same data to LeFarge.”

  “Ithaca! I feel vindicated.”

  A shake of her head. “You should feel nervous. LeFarge and the bully boys must be on the way.”

  “Is Garland going to keep helping us?”

  “I’m on his speed dial.”

  “That’s good. I’ve got to see the priest again. I’m running out of time, and so is Zlata.”

  ***

  Father Mirko stood towards the back of the church. Parishioners filtered past; some of them stopped to thank him or say hello. Thomas hunched up in the last pew, hitched around to face Mirko. Thomas’s voice muttered out low and intense in-between the interruptions. Unlike Thomas, the priest made himself at ease. He smiled, talked with his flock, and shook hands as parishioners oozed past.

  Thomas felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. This was too casual. “Father, we’re down to the wire.”

  “I like to think about the eternal life, Mr. Steward, not about the day-to-day panics. It slows things down and renders things harmless in perspective.”

  “Zlata’s enemies are on their way.”

  “Or perhaps they are already here, in the back of this church.”

  “Father, I only want the device.”

  “You work for a man who wants more, don’t you?” The priest stopped to hold the hands of two women and talk about their children.

  Thomas ran the possible angles through his head. He spoke the second the women turned away. “O’Brien may have unleashed something he can’t control.”

  “Robko will be safe enough, wherever he is. My old friend may have some personal issues, but he’s resourceful.”

  “He’s here, in Ithaca. I had guessed he’d run here, but now I have proof positive. I’m not the only one who knows. What they call an extraction team is on the way.”

  “And what do you want, my son?”

  “I need to take protective custody of Robko and Sibyl. I need the device in my pocket. I need to escort them into O’Brien’s building and fulfill my promise of immunity. All that would make the extraction team obsolete.”

  “What makes you think—once in captivity—my friends would not be hostage to O’Brien’s whims? Hit teams can have other uses. It was Pilate who sought Christ’s release and then condemned him.”

  The priest had said ‘friends.’ Then Mirko had met Sibyl. Thomas tried personal charm. “I give you my assurances. I can make this work.”

  “But aren’t you Captain LeFarge’s partner in this?”

  How did the priest know about LeFarge? “No, I’m his competitor. It’s complicated. LeFarge is as dangerous to me as he is to you.” There, he played the personal threat card, his voice sharp.

  “To me? Perhaps you speak in generalities?”

  “No. LeFarge’s team is toxic to anyone around Zlata.”

  “Mr. Steward, you think you can intimidate me, but look at who I am. Prison taught me I could give and take the most awful things invented by man. Now I have the Church and God.”

  “There may be life eternal, but getting to it can be painful. Pity to throw your friends’ chance away.”

  The priest glowered, his face dark and his brow drawn down. “I won’t give them up to you. Or LeFarge.”

  ***

  Here in the Church’s summer camp, Sibyl and Robko spent the nights apart in the staff dorms, but they could spend mealtimes together. At first, in the crowd of children and counselors, he couldn’t find her. He popped up on tiptoe, gawping about for her. She would blend in to the background, because she looked much like a ragamuffin boy. A finger dug into his back and he heard, “Hello, skanker.”

  They found a table over to the side of the dining hall and plunked down across from each other. He said, “We need some time to think through a plan. And we need to steal a desktab to open up the files.”

  “You could buy one.”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  The dining hall reverberated with the high pitched fervor of children and the dank smell of boiled vegetable. Vegetable that no one ate. Sibyl leaned close. “You always say ‘we’ but you mean ‘you.’ Don’t forget, I’m just the person who brings the pizza.” She pushed her plate away and hauled her phone out of her bag.

  His mouth fell open. “What’s that?”

  “It’s my iMob, gozo. I’m checking my messages.” She turned the vidi on. “I’ve been saving the battery.”

  A bolt of pain ran through his head. “You’ve had it all this time?”

  “Of course. It’s one of the few things I had on me when we left NYC. I called Arnie and conned him into hiring someone
to fix my front door and clean up the blood. I had to let Box Office know I wasn’t available for work. Small things like that.”

  “Aaah. Did you know they can trace your location through your mobile?”

  She dropped the phone on the table and jerked back like it was a roach. She drew her hands into her sleeves and hugged her chest. She swept her eyes around the hall as if ‘they’ would already be here. “What’ll we do?”

  “Turn the phone off, for one thing. Then lose it.”

  A deep voice rumbled out from behind Robko, “No, give the iMob to me.”

  She ripped out a squeak of surprise. Gathering herself, she stared over Robko’s head. “You scared me, Father.”

  Father Mirko dropped down beside them. “I just had a chat with Steward. He made one last plea for your surrender.” He held out his hand.

  She handed Mirko the vidi. The priest continued, “Steward says the muscle squad is on the way. I have no reason to doubt that part of the story, so I drove out right away to talk to you. It’s time you two children packed up and made your departure.”

  She leaned forward. “We’ve placed you in danger, haven’t we?”

  The priest wagged his hand. “Nonsense.”

  Robko said, “Come with us. Life on the road can be sweet.”

  “No, I’ll stick to what I know. My church is here, and I wouldn’t be up to your lifestyle anymore.”

  She shook her mop of hair and reached for his hand. “Please reconsider. It’s not all booze and drugs.”

  The priest snorted. “It’s also cheap motels and the clubs he loves so much, right?”

  “Robert’s got a plan, or will have one in a day or two. We’re going to get our lives back.”

  Mirko grinned, toothy, and rose from the table. He patted Robko on the shoulder. “I’ve already got my life.”

  ***

  Waiting across from the church, Thomas slumped down in his anonymous robocar. He didn’t know where to find Zlata and Boxwood, but he did know where to find the priest. Stomach acid burned the back of his throat, a foul taste. He had Garland’s taser, and he had read the instructions. The extraction team would have something better than a taser. This could be bad... or horrible.