Forests of the Night
Page 20
The picture caught the plane center frame again. The focus was fading in and out. In the meantime, the plane was skidding on its side down the runway. The left wing pointed straight up, reflecting the sun back at the camera. The image briefly resembled a chromed shark. The camera followed the plane as it twisted and started to roll. The left wing crumpled and the tail section separated, letting the body roll twice before it broke in two as well. The nose kept going the longest.
Updike's voice-over was useless, so the commentator took over for him as the camera panned over the trail of wreckage and bodies that was scattered over the length of the runway. "Casualty estimates are still coming in, but there are at least one hundred dead. It has been confirmed that among the dead is Ohio Congressman Joseph Binder—"
Nohar felt like someone just kicked him in the stomach.
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"—Binder was returning to Cleveland from Columbus, where he was reorganizing his Senate campaign which has been in chaos ever since the assassination of campaign manager Dary! Johnson. Also, sources say Binder's return was to answer allegations that there was a cover-up involving the Shaker Heights police investigation of Johnson's death.
"The FAA will not comment on the possibility that a surface-to-air missile was involved in the crash ... "
Nohar slowly sat down. Someone, it had to be Hassan, had killed a few hundred people just to kill Binder. Nohar could feel that events had steamrollered way past him. Everyone who had any connection with the Binder finance records was dead now—
With one exception.
Nohar reached out for Stephie, and pulled her into his arms. They watched the plane explode a few dozen more times.
Nohar turned off the water in the shower. He had finally gotten the baked algae out of his fur. He stepped out and unkinked his neck. Stephie was sitting on the John and drying her hair.
Nohar faced her, dripping, and asked, "What do you mean, I've been 'too hard on Angel'?"
Stephie looked down, shaking her head. Nohar could tell she was smiling. She picked up a washcloth and cleaned off a streak of algae on the inside of her thigh that her shower had missed.
Nohar was getting impatient. "Come on—"
Stephie handed him a towel. "I just think you haven't seen how bad this has all been for her."
Nohar started squeezing the water out of his fur, wishing for a dryer. "Stephie, this whole business has been bad for everyone."
"I know. But she's taking it hard. I know she puts on a brave face—" You mean an irritating, obnoxious one, Nohar thought. "But she's scared, Nohar. Scared FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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and alone." She stood up and helped him towel oif. "She has nightmares."
"Look, she should have known better than to answer Manny's comm. And I'm sorry if her wiseass attitude gets on my nerves."
"She's only fourteen."
Nohar sighed. "Stephie, for a morey, that's adult."
"Physically adult. She's still just a kid. How do you think you *d handle her situation if you were her age?''
That hit close to home. When he was that age, he was still with the Hellcats.
Back then he was probably worse than Angel—
' 'What do you want me to do?'' He mentally added, fuck her? He congratulated himself on not actually saying that.
"I think she needs some respect. She needs someone to show some confidence in her, reassure her. Most of all—" Stephie looked up at him, her hands knotted in a towel resting on his chest. "I think she needs you to like her."
"I do like her, sort of."
"She needs to know that."
Nohar shook his head. He supposed he had been treating Angel like a liability. Angel didn't deserve that. He changed the subject. "Stephie, I think we better get both you and Angel out of town."
She cocked her head to one side, "Is that necessary?"
"You're not safe in Cleveland. You're the only one left from the campaign that could have seen those records. Hassan blew that plane just to take out Binder. God help you if Hassan, or the people he works for, finds out where you are." "Thought you were an atheist."
Huh? Nohar mentally ran through what he'd just said. "Figure of speech.
Anyway, we can't have you anywhere near me until this is over. I'll have Bobby reserve a car rental and a motel room somewhere.
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He can fudge the records so no one will see your name—"
"Why me and Angel?"
Nohar put his arm around her. "I want someone to be around to keep an eye out for you when I'm not there. Also, you pointed out, Angel needs a friend. You fit the bill better than I do."
"When do I leave?"
"Soon as possible. Sorry."
She turned around and started wiping the condensation from the mirror. "Why is Hassan killing everyone in the campaign?"
Nohar saw the two of them together in the mirror. She was so damn small. "I still think it's the campaign finance records—the Fed thinks some radical morey group is behind the killing. The target makes sense, but I'm not convinced."
"Why?"
"Daryl Johnson wasn't a terror hit. It was precise, to the point, with no collateral damage. Doesn't fit. There's a motive for Johnson's death beyond some ideology."
Stephie shrugged. "You're the detective. You talk to Bobby and I'll try and see if any of Manny's clothes fit me—"
She walked out of the bathroom, leaving behind the pile of her old clothes. He watched her naked back recede down the hallway and realized that she was adjusting well to living with a bunch of moreaus.
Nohar limped downstairs and headed for the comm. Angel was still stationed in front of it. She seemed to have a growing addiction to the news channels. She was flipping through the stations with the keyboard.
Morey this, morey that . . . The nonhuman population was getting top billing everywhere across the board. It wasn't just the Zipheads either now. Harsk was right about the summer being explosive. There were already reports of retaliatory human-morey violence from New York. A Bensheim clinic in the Bronx had been firebombed, killing three doctors and three pregnant moreaus.
He thought about what Stephie had said about being curt with Angel. "Angel, I need to use the comm."
Angel turned around, like she hadn't heard him approach. She looked a little surprised. "Sure, Kit."
Angel got up and Nohar slid hi and started calling Bobby.
"Nohar?"
She called him Nohar? He turned around and Angel was looking at him, "What?"
"Do you mind when I call you Kit?"
Huh? "No, go right ahead-"
The comm spoke up, "Budget Surplus."
From behind Nohar heard Angel. "Thanks for not minding.''
Angel left him alone with Bobby. Nohar watched her leave.
"What do you want, Nohar?"
Nohar turned to face Bobby and explained his problem.
After he was done, Bobby nodded. "Simple enough. I'll get back to you in a few hours with some specific instructions. By the way—"
"What?"
"Are you ever going to want that data on Nugoya? It took a little effort to dig up . . ."
Nohar had totally forgotten about that. "What could I possibly want out of that now. He's dead."
"Well, Daryl Johnson's name pops up in it."
Nohar sat bolt upright, ignoring the protests of his hip. "What?"
Bobby displayed his evilest smile. "I knew that would get your attention." FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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CHAPTER 21
The wait while Bobby's electronic gears whirred into motion gave Nohar a chance to think. For the most part he thought about Daryl Johnson. He now had a connection, however tenuous, between Johnson and the Zipheads.
But then, there was so much junk in Johnson's system when he died, he had to be hooked on something. It was too bad flush addiction didn't show up on an autopsy unless they
looked for it. That's what it must mean—had to be flush. Bobby had traced one of Nugoya's financial threads and it led back to, of all people, Johnson. There were only two reasons why Nugoya would be receiving money from Johnson. Since Nugoya only pimped female morey ass, it probably wasn't sex.
Nugoya was ofled for reselling the flush he got from the Zips.
Johnson was buying that flush.
Was he? Nohar wondered. If he was, Young had taken all trace of that drug from Johnson's ranch. Bobby had only found three weekly payments—if it was tiie sign of an addict, it was a recent one.
Blackmail? No, the deposits were much too small for Nugoya's taste had he known anything damaging. There was plenty of information that was damaging. .
It was another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit.
1 f:
; t
The comm beeped. It was time for Bobby's ride to show up.
A familiar Nissan Tory pulled in front of Manny's house, Ruby again. It would be a long time before Nohar would trust a remote van. Nohar opened the front door and waved at the cab. Then he turned to Angel and Stephie. Stephie had somehow made some of Manny's clean clothes fit her even when the proportions were all wrong.
She still looked good in them.
"You both know what you're supposed to do?"
"Sure, Kit, no prob."
Nohar shook his head. He was trusting the rabbit, but he wanted to be sure she got it right. "Let me hear it."
Stephie and Angel looked at each other. Stephie cocked her head and motioned with the palm of her hand, Angel first. "Right, Kit, urn, we go to the Hertz counter at the airport—"
"Hopkins."
"Lady above, I know that. There's a prepaid '51, ah-"
"Maduro, it's a black, General Motors Maduro sports coupe." Stephie gave him a critical look and Nohar reined himself in.
Angel rolled her eyes so the whites could be seen. "Lemme finish the rundown,
Kit. Paid for with Pink— Stephie's—new name." The little scar pulled into a smile at Stephie's expense. Stephie didn't seem to mind.
The name was Bobby's doing. He had programmed a shell identity over Stephie's card. It wouldn't fool a real close scrutiny. However, it would run up false data trail on any casual ID scan. It was a total software construct—Bobby didn't even need to see the card. The software would self-delete when its usefulness was expired.
"—then we blow to the other end of the country, and shack up together across
the line in Geauga—she
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drives so pink law don't stop us. Woodstar Motel is in Chesterland, off highway 322."
"Good enough. I'll get word down as soon as the shit clears."
Nohar smiled at the rabbit, and, to his surprise, he got a full smile back.
He piled them into the Tory and paid Ruby. The cabby must have been getting used to moreys. She didn't even comment on Angel, who was buried in one of Nohar's old concert T-shirts.
Stephie mouthed, "I'll miss you," out the window as Nohar shut the door.
The cab drove west, toward the airport. Nohar was left alone in front of Manny's house. He kept looking down the road long after the Tory had passed from view.
He yawned, walked back into the house, and planted himself next to the comm. The chair still smelled of his blood.
Tonight was the meeting with Smith. He'd pretty much decided he was going to tell that blob of flesh to go straight to hell if he didn't get the full story on MLI. Things were too dangerous now to cater to his client's sense of secrecy. Smith's lockjaw might have already cost a few hundred people their lives.
He stretched and tried to make sense out of it all.
Johnson's death had an air of precision and forethought about it.
Staring with the 4th, the deaths in the Binder campaign were loud, messy, and seemed to fit into a nationwide spree of violence by the Zipheads. Violence that seemed engineered to resonate with the riots of eleven years ago. Up to and including starting the violence on the generally accepted anniversary date, August 4th. It was a coordinated effort by the Zips to scare the pinks shitless.
Nohar raked his claws across the armrest of the chair. The upholstery ripped. The Zips weren't making sense. The Zipperheads FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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were drug dealers, not terrorists. What kind of profit would there be in encouraging the pinks to clamp down? If there's a new wave of morey riots, nobody wins.
Somehow, it also seemed MLI was involved with the Zips. That made little sense either. It was also hard to deny. The rats'd kept showing up, ever since he'd discovered Hassan. He wouldn't be surprised if MLI was using those green remote vans to smuggle the rats back and forth. Especially after he saw that van shooting out of Thomson's building. There was also no denying that there was some higher authority than the Zips, represented by Hassan. From Angel it sounded like Terin was under somebody's thumb—her supplier?
Was it MLI?
And, even embedded in a wave of rodent terrorism, the deaths were going to focus everyone's attention on the Binder campaign. If there was some information buried in the campaign they—Young's nebulous them— were trying to cover up, this would be counterproductive—wouldn't it?
Nohar fell asleep feeling like he had forgotten something.
Manny woke Nohar up. He was home early.
"Where are the girls?"
Nohar yawned and sat up. "I sent them to a motel out of town, out of harm's way—"
"As opposed to you . . . and me."
Nohar was stung by that. "IVe been trying to keep you out of this. That's why I sent them—"
Manny sighed and sat down on the couch, across from him. Manny formed his engineered surgeon's hands into a peak before the tip of his nose. "Has it ever occurred to you that I don't want to be left out?"
Nohar didn't respond.
"Why do you think I told you you could come here if things got rough? Why do you think I help you with all those missing persons investigations? Why do you
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think I took that slug out of your hip?'' Manny shook his head. "When you left home and disappeared with that gang, I knew there was no way I would ever talk sense to you. But I have the right to know what you get mixed-up in. I promised Orai I'd keep an eye on you."
Manny stopped talking. The only sounds now were the faint buzz of a fluorescent and Nohar's own breathing.
"I've already involved you in enough to lose your job—"
Manny cast a glance out the window, toward the driveway where the van was parked. "I was trained to save lives. Today, we had an emergency, the 747. So damn many bodies to identify. We needed all the help we could get. They dismissed me from the scene because there weren 't any morey dead. You think I really care about conflict of interest?"
Manny deserved to know.
Nohar told him everything, including the money, the frank, Hassan—everything. Manny didn't interrupt, didn't ask for elaboration. He just sat and listened. Nodded a few times. Fidgeted a little with his hands. Otherwise he let Nohar explain the last week—
By the time Nohar was done, the sky outside had turned blood-red.
Manny seemed to weigh his response before he said anything. When he spoke, it was in the even tones of his professional voice, as if he was describing a corpse he had dissected. "You're right. Your frank is not from South Africa. All their franks have been cataloged since the coup d'etat in Pretoria. What you describe isn't anything they came up with, and it doesn't sound Israeli or Japanese. On the other hand, the way you describe Isham, it's pretty clear she's a Mossad assassin strain, something they co-opted after the invasion of Jordan. Hassan's Afghani, a strain they abandoned after the war, likes killing too much—"
Manny put his hand to his forehead and stopped FORESTS OF THE NIGHT
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talking. "I knew this would be bad. You should have seen that 747—"
"Are you
all right?"
"I'll be fine, it's nine-thirty, you better read your messages if you want to meet your client on time. I'll drive you to Lakeview.''
Nohar had forgotten about the messages he'd had the cabbie fetch for him. So much had happened since—
He turned on the comm and got the ramcard out of his wallet. He put it in the card-reader. He called up the messages. There was a predictable—and out of date—message from Harsk about how, if he turned himself in, things would go easier for him. In retrospect, Harsk wasn't lying. Then there was a message from the late Desmond Thomson, the press secretary.
Thomson's face was sunken. The skin looked hollowed out and the vid anchorman's voice had turned into the voice of a jazz musician who smoked too much. "I have no idea what your interest in this is. Whatever you've uncovered, I am supposed to request that you refrain from making it public until Congressman Binder's press conference tomorrow."
Damn, if Term copied this message some time Tuesday night, when they wrecked his home comm . . .
He played the next message. It was John Smith, the frank, in the same unidentifiable location.
Light was glistening off the frank's pale polyethylene skin. The glassy eyes stared straight ahead. A pale, mittened hand adjusted the comm. Manny stared at the screen, fascinated by the figure of Smith.
*'It is worse than I think before. We meet in Lake-view and we must go public. I discover it is not one individual responsible. The whole company is involved and condones the violence. I cannot let them do this, the organization is not supposed to physically intervene. MLI is corrupted and we must make it known who they are and what they do here. I bring all the evidence I can carry to the meeting tomorrow."
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Nohar sat back. It looked like he didn't have to threaten the guy to get the full story.
Manny was looking at him now. "Didn't you say these Zipperheads had probably copied your messages off your home comm?' *
Oh shit, Terin had that message! They knew the meeting was at Lakeview, today. They blew a 747 to get Binder. They'd certainly be willing to ambush the frank—if MLI hadn't dealt with him already.