The Cunningham Equations

by G. C. Edmondson

  Blaise sat on the edge of the porch next to Sergio, feeling the hot sun soak into his body. Sergio’s head was back against the reddish brown stucco wall. In California the color was called adobe even when it was mixed in mortar and sand. Sergio’s eyes were slitted so tightly Blaise couldn’t tell if they were open or not.

  “Gordon tells me you two have cooked up something.”

  “Too much education makes a blabbermouth, Doc.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergio. I thought it was for all of us.”

  “Not your fault it didn’t work, Doc. Besides, Miss McIntyre is a nice girl. If I had the time I’d take her away from you.”

  Blaise didn’t answer.

  “You’re supposed to laugh, Doc.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergio. I think I’m out of laughter forever.”

  “It’s okay, Doc. I like the idea that somebody’s going to miss me. Before there was only Bruno. He would have laughed because he figured he’d inherit my gun and my car.” Chuckling, Sergio said, “It’s funny, he got the car, and I’m laughing.”

  “There’s nothing I can do?”

  Sergio opened his eyes and squinted at the sky and the sun. “No, Doc. I’m so tired all I want to do is lie down and sleep.” He yawned, exposing even white teeth that flashed in sharp contrast to his leathery tan. “Dr. Hill’s a good man, but he takes too much too seriously. He thinks it’s a bad way to die, but we all die sooner or later and for everyone its the same. We just . . . stop. Doesn’t much matter how, does it?”

  “I guess not.” Blaise wanted to say something to comfort Sergio, but Sergio was comforting him.

  “You know, Doc, Gordon wasn’t sure he should leave the treatment for you to use on Miss McIntyre. But he was reading Miss McIntyre the way he read himself. He can’t stand to live the way Dobie was changed, knowing it’s going to happen to him. He thinks the same thing will happen to Miss McIntyre. And you. That you won’t be able to stand the strain of knowing what might happen to your lady.” Blaise was cold. The sun was not reaching his insides where he lived. “Why do you tell me this, Sergio?”

  “Miss McIntyre, Doc. She’s a nice lady, right?”

  “Nice enough. Too nice.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Sergio rolled his head, stretching his neck. “I figure, Doc, if you give up on her, she’ll give up on herself. Then Dr. Hill will be right and the three of us will have saved nothing. I don’t want that to happen. Dr. Hill is a brilliant man, but he’s not right about everything. Not about Miss McIntyre and not about life.”

  “You and Gordon are up to something, aren’t you, Sergio?”

  Sergio smiled. “I’ll tell you the truth, Doc. If I could make it, I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t care what’s in my head holding me together. It’s so much better than what I had before that I can’t make a comparison. If I could live, I’d live just as long as I could.

  “Dr. Hill, he sees things differently. His life wasn’t much changed by the implant except that it ties him into what he sees as an awesome responsibility. He didn’t get so much smarter or faster or richer that he feels the penalty is deserved.”

  “Helen didn’t want to be any of those things.”

  “That’s the point, Doc. She wanted to live to be with you. If she can do that and hang on to the idea that the alternative to what she has is nothing, she’ll be all right.”

  “You’re saying it’s my responsibility, aren’t you?” Sergio grinned. “I knew you’d get it, Doc.”

  In any endeavor of this magnitude, there are always penalities to be paid.

  FROM A SEMINAR ON

  THE CUNNINGHAM EQUATIONS

  CHAPTER 33

  After getting a printout of Gordon’s instructions to Alfie, Blaise took the VW out of the garage. The paper crinkled in his shirt pocket. He had memorized the contents, but hard copy was insurance against error.

  “How about a ride?” Sergio leaned against the VW talking through the open window. When Blaise nodded, Gordon and Sergio got into the car.

  “Where to?”

  “How about a car rental agency?”

  “The airport?”

  Sergio looked at Gordon who said, “Yes. That would do fine.” Gordon seemed to have lost some of his gloom.

  “I’ll have the phone fixed. Come to the house or call.”

  “Sure, Doc.” Sergio smiled. “As long as you keep Miss McIntyre around to dress up the place.”

  “Gordon?”

  “I think, Blaise, we had best go our separate ways for a while. We may have Mr. West and Dr. Hemmett off our necks but several targets are safer than one Valentine’s Day massacre.”

  Anticipating Blaise’s reluctance to accept this, Sergio asked, “Could West and Hemmett have known what would happen?”

  “Maybe not,” Blaise said, “but they didn’t try to stop it after they knew something was seriously wrong. It was dollars against people, and the people lost.”

  “What will the feds do?”

  “Sweep it under the rug.”

  “They can’t!” Gordon exploded. “There are a couple of hundred thousand victims around the world.”

  “No one will miss them among all the billions. No panic, no rush, sealed records.”

  “It’s not fair.”

  “That’s right, Dr. Hill.” Sergio glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not fair what they did to you and me and Miss McIntyre. But that’s the American way of life. A car thief does more time than a murderer. He gets caught oftener. He serves a greater percentage of his sentence. Everybody on the parole board has a car. How many have wives or husbands who’ve been murdered?”

  “It will catch up with them.” But Blaise didn’t believe it. They were rolling across the reclaimed tide flats that housed a good chunk of San Diego’s tourist industry. “I meant to ask, Sergio, how did you find Gordon and me at Sea World?”

  “You had the Burkhalter girl with you. She called her uncle every time you went somewhere and he called West.”

  “I guessed that already,” Blaise said. “But why would Milo tell West what Gordon was doing? Or what I was doing?”

  “Blackmailing each other. Burkhalter knew about Human Enhancements and Hemmett was sure you’d told Burkhalter what Gordon was up to when you were in San Francisco. So Mr. West sent some people up to the city and they came back with a way to twist Burkhalter’s arm.”

  “Do you know what they found out?”

  Sergio tried to look hurt. “The company I worked for is a secret organization, Doc.”

  “Milo must have known the larvae would develop into adults.”

  “We’ve been over this, Blaise. They knew something or they wouldn’t have gone after the lab animals.” Gordon’s voice was disinterested. “Maybe if Dr. Hemmett hadn’t suborned Miss Tazy, the Tillies would have remained quiescent. I don’t know. The early lab animals, done with the first batch, never converted. Maybe they would have. I never got a chance to find out.”

  Blaise would have pursued the questions, but San Diego International appeared on their left, across the road from the bay. Gordon didn’t want to waste time rehashing it all.

  Sergio obviously didn’t see much point in it either.

  Sergio leaned back into the car at the airport and held his hand out. When Blaise took his hand Sergio pressed the little pistol into his palm. “Sleight of hand. Bruno should have thought of that. I’ve been palming things on him since we were kids.” Sergio smiled crookedly. “I was a pickpocket. I’d go to LaGuardia or JFK and walk through a crowd and board an airplane with a bag full of money and credit cards.”

  “Thanks.” Blaise switched the gun awkwardly and took Sergio’s hand. “I’m glad we met, Saint Paul’s protector.”

  “Me, too, Signor Pasquale.”

  “Talk to my wife, Blaise. She wants to thank you.” Blaise took Gordon’s hand. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”

  “Don’t be. I knew enough to be careful. Instead I was greedy.” Abruptly Gordon let go and walked into the terminal.
“I’d better stay with him, Doc.”

  “Thanks.”

  Sergio smiled like he didn’t have a care in the world and followed Gordon.

  Blaise drove past the long row of cabs waiting for a spot in the airport hack stand and swung back out toward the bay and Harbor Drive. Fishing boats and seafood restaurants whizzed by and then he was downtown, parking a block from the Pickwick.

  Helen answered the knock as if she’d been ready to jump since she checked in. She pressed against Blaise. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

  Blaise held her for a moment, then sat her on the bed and turned on the TV. He fiddled with the tuner until he had a news program. “Did you eat?”

  She looked at the floor. “No.”

  Blaise wrapped his arms around her so she could burrow between them and feel safe. “No use moping. You have to eat.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.”

  “Gordon and Sergio are all right.”

  “I’m glad.”

  They watched the news but the commentator did not mention Human Enhancements or Gregory West or Dr. Hemmett.

  “Idiots!” Blaise began sweating.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Some jerk convinced Renfeld’s people he can clean out their computers and prevent me getting into them again.”

  “They won’t do anything?”

  “They’re not trying.”

  Tall buildings along Broadway shadowed the street. Facades darkened as the light left. Blaise bit his thumb. “What can you do?”

  “Wait. Until the feds take an interest, none of us is safe.” Pictures and talking heads flashed across the screen.

  “Do we still have to hide from those men? It’s only Mr. West, isn’t it? He’s the one sending those people after us?” Blaise took her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll do something.”

  “Blaise!” Helen jerked away. “Did you see?”

  “What?”

  “The TV!”

  Gordon filled the screen. He sat against a wall, arms wrapped around his chest. Blood was turning his gray herringbone vest dark red. Blaise followed the line of red stain to the edge of his coat. A red bead formed and dropped repeatedly.

  “Why don’t they stop the blood?” Helen whispered.

  Crowd noise filled the room. Somebody was yelling about a doctor. A microphone pushed into the camera’s line of sight.

  “Sir. What happened?”

  Gordon’s face was damp with sweat. His rimless glasses were askew but his face was smooth and unlined as Blaise had always remembered it. He opened his eyes and the irises were starling: ice chips of blue fire. He seemed to look directly at Blaise.

  “I’m a research scientist for GENRBCT.” He was sweating freely now, but his eyes didn’t reflect the pain. He gasped for air. “My name is Dr. Gordon Hill and I was coming to warn that people are being murdered by Gregory West.” Gordon stopped talking to pant.

  A background voice saying “you shouldn’t be doing this” was suddenly cut off. Blaise felt himself trying to breathe for Gordon, willing the bleeding to stop. The microphone remained in front of Gordon’s face.

  He had closed his eyes with the effort to breathe, but he opened them again. The mike floated closer and the camera revealed a hand in plaid shirt cuff and a stainless-steel watch band. The digital watch changed to 5:26. Gordon’s breath rasped.

  “Mr. West represents gangster interests.” Gordon’s lips were pale but his eyes still glinted. “He sent a man to kill me before I could talk.”

  An ambulance attendant pushed in front of the camera and for a moment the back of his white coat filled the screen. The camera pulled back to show people drawn to Gordon like iron filings to a magnet. The paramedic tried to stop the blood.

  The hand-held camera jiggled. “Moments ago the man you see came into our studio offices claiming he had information that had to be made public. Before he could talk, an unidentified man came in and shot him once in the chest. The assailant then left by the front door and disappeared.”

  A man in a suit walked up to the ambulance attendant and stooped to whisper. From the back, the camera caught the negative shake of his head. The voice said that the alleged Dr. Gordon Hill was not doing well. The police arrived.

  Blaise turned off the TV and lay on the bed, his body rigid.

  “Poor Gordon.” Tears made Helen’s cheeks shiny.

  Blaise didn’t say anything. His insides hurt from trying to keep Gordon alive.

  “Will he die?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so sorry for him. And for you, Blaise.” Helen put her hand on his and gently stroked it. “He was like a father or an older brother to you.” She caressed Blaise like a mother comforting a child. “What will we do now? They haven’t stopped looking for us.”

  “We wait.” Blaise looked at the ceiling remembering Gordon as he was, feeling another void open, wondering if Stella Hill—how long would it take her to see one of the inevitable reruns?

  Helen walked around the room closing blinds. When it was dark enough she returned to the bed and lay against Blaise and held him. He didn’t speak but he didn’t push her away.

  There was a knock on the door.

  Helen’s body tensed and she clung to Blaise. He stroked her for a moment. “Open it,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” she whispered.

  Blaise nodded.

  She looked at him but did as she was told. Unlatching it, she turned the knob and opened the door.

  “Sergio!” She threw her arms around him.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Blaise said.

  “You heard?”

  “We saw it on TV.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sergio wouldn’t look at Blaise. “I had to come.”

  “I was expecting you.” Blaise got off the bed feeling old. “I suppose you still have that little pistol.” Gently Sergio moved Helen aside and she was suddenly rigid.

  “Of course. It’s a keepsake. It’s all right, Sergio.” Blaise took Sergio’s hand in both of his. “I understand. But I don’t think there’s any safe place in San Diego for you.”

  Sergio’s face that had been a mask until then seemed to dissolve. Tears streaked his face. “I know. But I had to see you. And I want you to go with me.”

  “No!” Helen stood back from Sergio and all but screamed. “You can’t, Blaise.”

  Sergio fumbled in his coat pocket.

  “It’s all right, Helen.” Blaise turned to Sergio. “Do you have a car?”

  “Lot across from the courthouse and city jail. It’s a creamy Mercedes with all sorts of gadgets.” Sergio smiled. “I’m not sure I should go get it.”

  “Give me the ticket.”

  Helen looked stricken.

  “Come with me, Helen. We have to talk.” Blaise glanced at Sergio, who seemed to understand. He handed over the ticket.

  “I have something else.”

  Blaise looked at Sergio.

  “From Gordon.” Sergio raised his hand. A tiny ball of black curled in his palm. The kitten raised its head, its eyes a startling blue in an all-black face. Huge triangular ears dwarfed the tiny head. “She’s for Helen.”

  “For me?” Helen took the animal. It mewed, then curled up in her cupped hands. She held it to her cheek.

  “I’ll pick you up out front in ten minutes exactly.” Blaise glanced at his watch and Sergio repeated the gesture.

  Helen looked from Sergio to Blaise as Blaise took his arm. “Sergio . . .” she said. It was like the cry of a wounded animal.

  His long legs ate up the sidewalk and Helen devoted her limited energy to keeping up. She cuddled the kitten against her body. Time was clicking away in Blaise’s head.

  Even though evening was enveloping the city, the sun made concrete sparkle and the green patch around the courthouse resembled an oasis in a surrealistic desert. The parking lot attendant surrendered the keys to the Mercedes with no comment about Blaise not being the man who parked it.

  Helen sat very
still while Blaise turned the key. “Sergio shot Gordon. That’s why you took me with you.”

  “Yes.” Blaise let the engine run.

  “I won’t ask you anything you don’t want me to know.” She picked at the leather seat with a tapered fingernail, then stroked the kitten. “But he might kill you. He must have gone back to work for Mr. West.”

  Blaise pulled Helen close. She didn’t resist. “He could have killed us in the hotel if he wanted to. He came back so I could kill him.”

  “I don’t understand.” Helen’s voice was small, and scared of the things that wer happening around her.

  “Gordon wanted to die in a way that would absolve his family from guilt and persecution. He wanted his wife to collect his insurance. But it wasn’t just money. He didn’t want Stella to be the widow of a mad scientist who did something so horrible he couldn’t stand himself. Or his children to be the offspring of a ruthless, greedy man.

  “Gordon was never a captive at Heaven’s Gate. He just made me work to see him, to make him seem innocent in my eyes. He knew something was wrong. Playing games with me and Sergio created an impression he knew I’d pass on to his wife.

  “Insurance wasn’t money. That’s why they went together. Sergio liked Gordon. He was willing to do anything for him.”

  “But to kill him!”

  “That takes a lot of love. They did it for us, too.”

  Helen pulled away, aghast. “How could they? Why would Sergio come so you could shoot him if it was for us?”

  “He had to know if I understood. If I didn’t, he was willing to die.”

  “Let you shoot him?” Helen’s wide eyes reminded Blaise of the last image he had of Gordon.

  “I’d be a hero for shooting Gordon’s killer. It would cement my alibi that I was a victim, and I could corroborate Gordon’s story that he was escaping from West.” Blaise had driven up C Street, scraping past the trolley tracks before swinging around to head south toward the hotel. With four minutes left to go six blocks he dawdled to catch red lights.

  “Suppose Gordon died before he could say anything?”

  Blaise looked at Helen a long time before answering. The light changed form red to green. “Sergio would have let the police catch him so he could confess. Either way they’d be after West for murder.” A car behind honked and Blaise started the Mercedes rolling again.