by Brian Keene
Paolo’s voice was thick with emotion. “I would like that very much, Gatito.”
“Alright, then. We don’t have to pay the waiter. McBean said this was on the house. I’m going to go say goodnight to Abhi. He’s still pretty mad at you, so maybe it would be better if we didn’t leave together. Meet you upstairs?”
“Yes.” Paolo nodded. “Just let me stop off at my room first. I’ll meet you at your suite.”
“Sounds good.”
They got up from the table and crossed the lounge, then veered in different directions. Carrie watched him head for the elevators. Paolo’s step seemed renewed and there was a big smile on his face. She half expected him to start whistling or skipping.
After Paolo had gotten on the elevator and the doors had closed, she walked over to Abhi and whispered in his ear.
* * *
In his room, Paolo freshened up and changed his clothes. He grinned into the bathroom mirror. Doing so caused the stitches in his lip to pull tight, but he barely felt the pain. He was pleased by how well things were going. All he had to do now was make an early handoff of the first hard drive to Alpinus, with the insistence upon receiving his money in cash at that point, and then tell them the location of the dead drop so they could recover the second hard drive and kill Carrie and Abhi—after which he would give them his encryption key. He would, of course, neglect to mention to Alpinus that the authorities would be on hand for that second drop, just as he would neglect to mention to Carrie and the others that he was getting paid upon making the first exchange.
Whether Carrie and Abhi lived or died, he expected to be far gone into the Outback by the time the second drop took place.
He also couldn’t deny that there was something delightful about sharing her bed one last time. He still remembered all the ways of convincing her when she was “tired” that had worked so well in the past—kissing the back of her neck, stroking her shoulder, gently nibbling her earlobe. Those old methods had always been reliable. He was certain they still would be.
What was it his father used to say? The old ways were the best?
Even if this evening didn’t involve sex, it would be nice to hold Carrie one more time. He’d missed the smell of her hair, and the feel of her. He would be sure to commit those to memory one last time.
Paolo fixed his hair in the mirror. His smile vanished.
He hoped, if the Alpinus team did get the drop on Carrie and Abhi before the intelligence services could react, that the kill would be quick. He didn’t care about Abhi, obviously. Indeed, he would have preferred to see the old fool tortured. But Carrie?
Carrie had suffered enough. She deserved a quick, merciful end.
SIXTEEN
Later that night, as they lay in bed together, Carrie held her breath, and felt like she was drowning.
She was tired. In truth, she couldn’t remember a time in her life when she’d been more exhausted than she was now. And yet, despite her deep fatigue, sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. She could no more sleep right now than she could transport herself to the surface of Mars.
Maybe that’s what I should have done, she thought. All those years ago. Maybe I should have become an astronaut instead.
She exhaled slowly and soundlessly, barely moving. Then, she took another breath and held it again.
Paolo snored softly next to her. She’d forgotten about that—forgotten that he’d snored. Forgotten what it sounded like, too—a quiet sort of snuffling noise, like a baby piglet searching for its mother’s teat. She’d forgotten his scent, as well, but was reminded of it now, as he lay pressed against her, spooning, with one arm lying limp upon her bare waist. At one time, his scent had awoken something in her every time she smelled it—longing, arousal, and a desperate, hungry need. Now, it repulsed her, as did everything else about him.
She hated him. She realized that now. Any glimmer of romantic love, or even friendship, was forever destroyed. They lay buried at the bottom of the trench, frozen, unable to be thawed, covered in silt and darkness.
Yes, she absolutely hated him. She made her peace with that.
But what she hated more was the fact that, despite her loathing for Paolo, she still cared about him, deep down inside.
Carrie didn’t know how to make peace with that second revelation. She wasn’t sure that she ever would.
At the clinic, when Barbet had revealed the truth about the conspiracy, he’d told Carrie and Abhi that the creature’s venom was causing Paolo’s brain to mutate. They knew now that the mutations had been caused by nanotechnology. But the bad thing inside of Paolo—that had no cause, and no cure. That was something that had existed inside of him all along.
She’d just never let herself see it until now.
Paolo shifted slightly, and his arm slid farther down her hip. His fingertips brushed against the hem of her panties. Once, those fingertips had aroused her with just a touch. Now, they made her stomach churn. They felt like cold, greasy sausage links. Paolo murmured in his sleep—soft, unintelligible words.
She held her breath until spots danced before her eyes. Then, she slowly exhaled and repeated the process once again. She wanted to raise her head and check the time, but she was afraid that if she moved, Paolo would awaken.
Carrie had been dissatisfied with Paolo’s high-drama plan of capturing the criminals. She was an empiricist, and thought that if they had the evidence, they should turn it over to the Australian authorities, rather than take risks for the sake of showmanship. She had agreed to the Australian involvement after their efforts at the American embassy were stymied, because it had made sense to gain asylum, but now, she thought it was time to do the reasonable thing. Unfortunately, when she’d seen how Jessamine and the others had gone for Paolo’s plan, she’d stayed quiet.
After the meeting, she had still felt unsettled. She didn’t know why. She thought that perhaps it was just exhaustion, or maybe the fact that she was still reeling from—and struggling to reconcile—Paolo’s admission. She had ultimately chalked up her uneasiness to those very things, until her dinner with Paolo.
His mention of the encryption key had been what tipped her off. He’d mentioned it quickly, in passing, as a way of assuring her nothing would go wrong. But why would Paolo have an encryption key to the hard drives? He had specifically told Brown and McBean that the drives were encrypted by Alpinus. Then, he’d intimated the opposite to her, implying that Alpinus would need his key to access the data.
He was starting to mix up his own lies.
Tonight, when they’d met here in the room, it had been all she could do not to shrink away. When they lay down together, he’d stroked her shoulder with his fingertips and kissed the back of her neck and nibbled on her earlobe—all the things that turned her on. But instead of being aroused by his attentions, Carrie had been repulsed. Luckily, she hadn’t had to fend him off for long. Paolo had fallen asleep after only a few minutes of muted conversation.
She breathed in. Held it. Released.
She breathed in again. Held it. And curled her hands into fists.
She wanted to scream. You couldn’t scream underwater, but she could damn sure scream now. She wanted to elbow him in the throat. She wanted to roll over and dig her nails into his face, bloody her knuckles on his already split lip and feel his blood squirt between her fingers. She wanted to choke him and feel her hands sink into the flesh of his throat. She wanted to drive her knee into his balls until he sank into the mattress.
She wanted to shake.
She wanted to cry.
Instead, she lay there, listening to him breathe, ignoring the feel of his body against hers, ignoring his smell, ignoring his touch, and then—just as if she were going on a dive—she focused on her breathing.
She exhaled.
Inhaled.
Held it.
Exhaled.
Inhaled.
And held it again.
And tried to wait.
And tried not to drown.
Carrie padded across the room. Her hands felt like balloons, and her ears rang. She focused on the feel of the plush carpet between her bare toes, afraid that if she didn’t, she might pass out.
She unlocked the door and opened it before they could knock.
Outside were Abhi, Brown, and four armed soldiers.
“Did you find them?” she asked.
“Aye,” Abhi said. “They were in his room, along with a cell phone.”
Paolo stirred again, fumbling toward wakefulness. He mumbled something unintelligible, and then groaned.
“The phone alone is probably incriminating enough,” Brown told her, “although we won’t know for sure until we can access it. It’s locked. Password protected. And we’ll still need the encryption key for the hard drives. But I’m sure he’ll want to cooperate.”
“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Carrie agreed. “He’s very good at caring for himself.”
Carrie flipped on the light switch and stood back from the doorway as the men entered the room. The soldiers hurried in, weapons drawn and readied. Brown and Abhi entered behind them. Carrie noticed that Abhi was grinning, but there was no humor in the expression. Instead, it was malevolent.
It matched her own emotions.
Groaning, Paolo rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, squinting against the sudden glare.
“What’s going on?” he muttered. “Carrie?”
“You’re under arrest for conspiracy,” Brown informed him. “Please come with us.”
“Conspiracy? What? What is this? Carrie, what are they—”
Abhi stepped toward him. “Leave her alone, you piece of shit. You’ve done enough.”
Paolo sat up the rest of the way and glanced around the room. His eyes were wide with panic, and his hair was in disarray. Carrie had never seen him look so small and afraid and unsure of himself as he did in that moment.
The soldiers surrounded the bed and, at gunpoint, ordered Paolo to his feet. Then they handcuffed him roughly and led him toward the door.
“Wait a minute,” he shouted. “Can’t I at least get dressed first? I’m in my underwear for God’s sake!”
The soldiers didn’t respond. They simply shoved him forward.
Stumbling, Paolo turned to Carrie.
“I don’t understand,” he exclaimed. “What is happening? Carrie, help me!”
“I can’t help you, Paolo. I thought I could, at one time. But not anymore.”
Slowly, the confusion drained from his expression, and was replaced with a cold, emotionless glare. Carrie felt the urge to look away, but instead, she stared him in the eye, silently challenging him to speak.
Paolo said nothing.
The soldiers pushed him out the door and down the hall.
“The password,” Carrie told Brown. “The encryption key for the hard drives? Try Gatito.”
He frowned. “Gatito? Does that mean something to you?”
“It used to,” she replied. “But not anymore.”
SEVENTEEN
“… but a source close to the investigation revealed to me, on condition of anonymity, that there is no truth to the rumor, and the prosecutors have not agreed to any sort of plea deal at this time. And with the trial scheduled to start later this month, the defense is running out of time. For GNN News, I’m Jessamine Wheatley, in Melbourne, Australia.”
Carrie shook her head in admiration. She had to admit, Jessamine had gotten her news story and then some. For the last year, the Alpinus Biofutures conspiracy had remained in the headlines. Sure, it was occasionally bumped to second place by wars, terrorist attacks, political arguments and controversies, or the latest celebrity meltdown, but it always quickly supplanted those stories again, and remained in the public eye, capturing much of the world’s attention. Much of that was due to Jessamine’s reporting. The savvy newswoman had already parlayed her exposé into a position at GNN (and had even managed to get her producer and cameraman included as part of a package deal). Carrie could only wonder what Jessamine would do next. The trade blogs and magazines were speculating that she might have a primetime anchor desk when this was all over. Carrie figured that was already a given. Something told her that Jessamine wouldn’t be satisfied with just that position. Given time, she’d probably be running the network.
The thought almost made Carrie smile, but all she could muster was a slight grin.
Smiling was something she rarely did these days.
Carrie turned away from the television and glanced around the prison’s waiting room. It was filled with wives, girlfriends, and children, as well as a few lawyers, all of whom were waiting to visit inmates. In addition to the television, which was permanently tuned to just one channel, there was a magazine rack and a few tables with children’s books strewn across them. In one corner was a toy box filled with dilapidated old toys that had seen better days.
This is where toys go to die, Carrie thought. From the factory to the toy store to some kid’s home to a yard sale to the children’s ward at a hospital and then to here—a prison waiting room. The circle of life …
Across the room was a small window, behind which sat a bored-looking prison guard who kept snapping her chewing gum loudly as she flipped aimlessly through a magazine. Occasionally, she would call out a visitor’s name, with a begrudging, impatient tone.
None of them—the visitors or the guard—had recognized Carrie yet, which was a relief. In the past year, her face had been on television almost as much as Jessamine’s had, especially in the first few months of the story. It had brought Carrie an uncomfortable, unfortunate level of fame far beyond what she had experienced as a world-class free diver. There was nothing flattering or comfortable about it at all. Feeling self-conscious, she reached up and adjusted her sunglasses. Then she patted the red silk scarf covering her hair.
“Carrie Anderson?”
She looked up as the guard called her name. Then she got to her feet and approached the window. People were staring at her now, but whether out of recognition or simple mindless curiosity, she couldn’t be certain.
“Yes. I’m Carrie Anderson.”
The guard shoved a clipboard through a slot in the window. “Sign and print there, please, next to your name. And I need to see your I.D.”
The pen felt greasy between Carrie’s fingertips. She scrawled her name where indicated, and slid the clipboard back through the slot, along with her passport. The guard gave it a perfunctory glance and slid it back to Carrie. Then, without looking up, the guard pressed a button, and a buzzer rang loudly.
“Step over to the door, please.”
Carrie did as instructed, and was met by another prison guard, who had her stick her arms out to her sides. His face had the same bored expression as that of his co-worker. Wordlessly, he then ran a wand from Carrie’s head to her feet, front and back. When that was finished, he quickly and perfunctorily frisked her, checking for weapons and contraband. His hands felt rough. Carrie was reminded of their initial entrance at the embassy, the night they had escaped Ochse and his men. Something sour rose in her throat, and she grimaced. Satisfied with his search, the guard stepped back.
“Is this your first visit to this facility, Miss Anderson?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Okay. You are required to be in the company of a prison guard at all times. Don’t stray off anywhere by yourself. If you need to use the restroom during your visit, one of us will accompany you. The inmate will sit across from you. You may communicate by phone. Please be aware that these conversations are monitored and recorded. Is that clear?”
Carrie nodded again. “Absolutely.”
“This way, please.” The guard indicated another doorway.
“Okay.”
/>
She followed him through the door, and down a short corridor lined with drab, gray tiles, and then a third door. On the other side of that door were a series of cubicles with seats in front of them and a large partition of glass. Some of the cubicles were occupied by other visitors, talking to inmates on the other side of the glass through phones wired into the wall.
“Wait here,” the guard told her.
After what felt like an hour, but was in reality only a few minutes, Paolo was brought out on the other side of the glass, and directed to a seat. He wore an orange jumpsuit. Either it was too big for him or he had lost weight. She couldn’t be sure of which. Then she got a good look at his face and decided it was the latter. His hair was much shorter than it had been when she’d last seen him. She also noticed that he no longer limped.
Time does heal some wounds, she supposed.
But while time could heal injuries, it could never take away the scars.
Scars were timeless.
“Okay, go ahead.” The guard nodded toward the cubicles.
Carrie crossed the floor slowly. Her feet felt like lead. She focused on her breathing. In and out. Paolo smiled when he saw her. She did not return the gesture. She sat down in the chair and took off her sunglasses and her scarf. She shook her hair out. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she picked up the phone.
“You came.” Paolo sounded genuinely pleased and surprised. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“I wasn’t sure I would either,” Carrie admitted. “But your lawyer convinced me.”
“It is good to see you, Carrie.”
At least he didn’t call me Gatito, she thought. At least there’s enough decency left in him for that.
“You look good,” he said. “God, you look amazing!”
Carrie nodded. “Thank you.”
“You are well, I hope?”
Carrie shrugged in a noncommittal way. “I’m doing great, Paolo. How’s prison treating you?”