“No,” said Tariq, arms limp across his lap. “He saw me a few times, once every couple of weeks. He got a vid from some nasty old Russian a few minutes ago. I swear some people just don’t take care of their skin. He asked me to buy him some time. Left his NetMini here so you would find it.”
“He told you to attack a police officer. He could have gotten you killed.” She stomped to the nightstand and grabbed the device.
Dorian stuck his finger through it and the security screen faded out to the desktop image of a calm tropical beach scene.
“That call came in about four minutes ago.” She grumbled.
Dorian narrowed his eyes. “It would have been right when we left the PAC. The only way he could have known is if he is watching you.”
“Or has my phone tapped.” She kicked the bed. “I’m confiscating this.” She waved the civilian-grade stunrod at Tariq, and stormed out.
Tariq grunted and wobbled to his feet.
Kirsten stopped, leaning back through the doorway. “Do you need a medic?”
He poked at his bruising ribs. “Yeah.”
Dorian gave her a chiding look as she called it in.
he network operations room of the Division 2 Regional Tech Center was dim and cool, as always. Kirsten slouched as she trudged down the four black stairs to the sunken chamber. The pink-haired tech woman fired off her usual sharpened glare, while the arrogant one refused to acknowledge her presence. Ever since Dorian shut his terminal down, Kirsten had ceased to exist. From the look of it, he’d moved on to Shinto… decorating his workstation with various hanging ofuda and paper charms. The last thing he had said to her was something regarding the nonexistence of things inexplicable to math or science. She grinned, remembering the face he made when she asked him, via telepathy, to explain that with math.
“Hey, Sam.” She fell into the chair, staring at his desk.
“Geez, Agent Wren, you look like a zombie… just cuter.”
The pink-haired woman made some kind of gagging noise.
“I just had Div Nine wrist-deep in my ass, and elbow-deep in my terminal.” She didn’t react to the gasps. “Metaphorically speaking.”
“What happened?”
“A suspect got warning I was coming for him at about the same moment I left my squad room. They’re checking for hacks, bugs, or listening devices. I couldn’t do what I need to do there, so I’m here. Mind if I use your equipment?” She twisted to point. “Not a word, Dorian.”
He whistled, pacing around.
Sam blinked at the empty space she just scolded. When she looked back at him, he scooted over. “Sure. Ghost?”
“Yeah.”
She pawed at the screens, going for her file node where her notes resided. “I’ve been trying to find some kind of a pattern to these companies, but the only connection I keep coming back to is this guy, Yevgeniy. I’ve been staring at pages and pages of financial records.”
“You guys don’t have a Gnome?”
She buried her face in her hands. “Is that something from the Monwyn franchise?”
“No, it’s an analysis AI, specifically developed for forensic accounting.” He slid over, his proximity triggering a wave of discomfort. “One moment.”
Kirsten smiled at him at the same moment an overwhelming sense of guilt fell on her; the discomfort of having him near enough to feel body heat felt traitorous at the same time welcome. She did not mind Sam so near. Something about him was charming in an awkward sort of way, but she did not want Konstantin to get the wrong idea about what she was doing. With both arms clamped to her gut, she weathered through her guilt and the growing storm in her belly.
An elderly gnome appeared, all two feet of him standing on Sam’s desk―complete with pointed hat and green tunic. The holo-projectors in here were top-of-the-line. As long as she did not try to touch him, he looked real.
“Give him the particulars,” said Sam.
The gnome shifted to face her, bowing.
“Can you please look for relationships between RedEx, EnMesh, Kukla Investment Corporation, VSKK, Yevgeniy Suvorin, and any security employees thereof?”
The tiny old man nodded and leaned back as if staring into the heavens in search of truth. His eyes glowed and flickered, shades of amethyst and green flashed within, creating matching coloration on the sides of his long nose. Kirsten shifted as her chair got bumped from behind. Her shirt open far enough to display the lack of a bra, the pink-haired techie dropped a datapad on Sam’s desk. She leaned forward, over Kirsten.
“Well, that’s subtle,” muttered Dorian.
“Sam, Lieutenant Saunders wanted me to remind you about your end-of-year self-review. It’s late. He wants you to do it before you leave today.”
He glanced at her, offering no reaction whatsoever to the pair of almost-exposed tits in his face. “Uhh, sure. I’ll do it right after we’re done.”
Kirsten glared as the woman walked away. “She must like you.”
Samuel Chang blushed. “No, she never spoke to me before. It doesn’t matter. I don’t think highly of her, she is not a nice person. She must be jealous of you. It is rare to be beautiful on the outside as well as on the inside.”
Fire swam up the back of her throat. Kirsten clamped a hand over her mouth in an effort to avoid throwing up all over his desk. A little metal dragon seemed to curl around her stomach, biting and clawing at her from the inside out. When the initial urge retreated to a grinding pain in her gut, she doubled over and gasped. What the hell is wrong with me?
“I’m sorry.” He offered her tissues. “I did not mean to offend you.”
Dorian put an amazing, cool hand on her forehead. “Kirsten?”
“I’m fine. Had to be bad fruit.” She re-swallowed her breakfast. “I’m glad I got the oatmeal today instead of the usual spicy eggs. Sam, that’s very sweet of you.” She winced. “I’m sorry I seemed like I had a bad reaction to it. I’m just sick with stress over this case.”
“Do you want water?”
She forced a smile through the pain. “That would be wonderful.”
Sam ran off to the break room.
“Kirsten, you’re sweating. You look feverish. Every time you look at him, you grab your gut. Now, either you’re allergic to what he’s starching his shirt with, or you are taking the phrase lovesick too literally.”
“Dammit, Dorian, I’m Konstantin’s,” she hissed, managing to avoid screaming it at the entire tech crew. “Why do you keep trying to pull me away from him? You just―” She gawked. “Sorry. Shit, twice now I’ve snapped at you.”
“ That’s not you talking, K.” He held her head in both hands, peeling her eyes open one at a time to examine them. She shivered at the icy fingers encircling her skull. “You are getting more and more defensive whenever someone suggests the fancy billionaire might not be an ideal match.”
She glanced at the unmoving gnome with its light-eyes, then at the floor between her boots. “Maybe I just want it too bad. Having that kind of security for Evan, it’s more than I could have ever dreamed.”
“You don’t make bad money with the department. Remember that whole ‘merit pay’ thing?” He winked. “It’s not like you to care so much about the size of a bank account.”
“I never had to worry about a kid before. If I have my way, he’ll never want for anything.”
“You know it’s a recipe for a spoiled brat. Sooner or later, his gratefulness at getting him out of the situation you found him in will wear off. As soon as he feels comfortable, he’ll be just like any other whiny, needy, foul-mouthed teenager. The day will come when you’ll beg for the over-sweet little boy to come back.”
“He’s not just being super-nice to thank me for saving him. That’s who he is.”
“Kirsten?”
“Yeah?” She looked up.
“I suggested you might think Sam is cute and you were getting ready to rip my head off. I just said, more or less, Evan is only acting sweet so you don’t get tired of him
and kick him out. That, you brushed off. Does it seem a little odd to you?”
“You didn’t mean it.”
“Meaning it is beside the point. I said it to poke you. I’m worried, Kirsten. You’re not acting right.”
Sam edged out of the break room, desperate to extricate himself from a heated discussion with a short, wide-bodied Hispanic man harassing him about his end-of-year appraisal.
“It’s gotta be all the stress: the adoption, the case, the demons. For shit’s sake Dorian, I caught myself praying the other day. I think I’m losing it.”
He chuckled, still looking worried.
Sam flopped in his seat, swiveling to face front just as the gnome came out of its trance. Kirsten sucked down half the water bottle in a single gulp. The diminutive AI waited for her to recover.
“The corporate entities you mentioned are connected. Kukla Investment Corporation has recently acquired EnMesh Corporation. VSKK has recently acquired RedEx. Money has flowed in a back channel between Kukla and RedEx as well, siphoned through accounts linked to another entity: Koloss Venture Capital. Koloss has contributed funds to both EnMesh and RedEx, as well as significant contributions directly to both VSKK and Kukla. Further research indicates Koloss VC owns a majority share in Kukla Investment Corporation. By means of four shell corporations that exist only in Cyberspace, it is also listed as owner of VSKK, a result of some very obscure accounting.”
“ So… basically you’re saying Koloss owns everything related to this case?”
“It would seem that is correct,” said the gnome, nodding for emphasis. “Also, I have found evidence Koloss, via Kukla Investments, has acquired numerous properties in Northern Africa, specifically Egypt. The trail led to thirteen small businesses engaged in historic preservation initiatives, Egyptology, and archaeological expeditions. There have also been significant donations arranged through a network of smaller business entities to the West City Archives as well as the Büro für Geschichte in Berlin, and the Ministerstvo Istoricheskikh Sokrovishch in Moscow.”
“Huh?” Kirsten blinked.
“Museums,” huffed the Gnome, with crossed arms. “Didn’t you get an education?”
“Enough to put me on duty when I was sixteen, more or less only what I needed to know to do my job.”
“Criminal.” The gnome’s stubby arms flailed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Where is this Koloss VC?”
“It is a phantom. It occupies no physical real estate; however the corporate registry is in Eastern Siberia, ACC.”
Kirsten lifted the bottle to drink more. “Who is in control of it?”
“By virtue of a chain of ownership among six other companies, including VSKK…” The gnome rocked heel to toe. “Konstantin Dobrynin.”
Kirsten threw up.
irsten paced back and forth in the ground-floor lobby of her apartment building. Being at home on a Wednesday, earlier than sundown, lent a bitter edge to the flutter of worry bouncing around her stomach. It exacerbated the wrongness of her feelings; as if some force lifted her out of the real world and planted her in a reality that looked and felt in every way the same―except for a series of tiny flaws which escaped conscious notice, but agitated her subconscious mind into believing something was wrong.
Something was wrong.
However, no matter how much she studied the data dump from the gnome, it still circled back to the unbelievable. She stared down the length of her shimmering, sapphire-blue gown, feeling self-conscious about the milky white of her legs. Thin straps held silver high heels to her feet. They made her think of Armando/Brian/Douchebag. That was the last time she wore them. Why am I wearing these damn things? This isn’t a date, it’s an investigation. Her stomach churned. He’ll know something’s wrong. Ugh, I’m going to blow chunder all over him. Thinking of vomiting made her think of a worried Sam dabbing at her face after she decorated his desk. That brought on another twinge of pain, a dagger in her stomach.
She walked to the glass, staring at the street while clinging to the E-90 through her purse under her left arm. A dull, silvery rectangle sixteen inches end to end, she should be able to get the weapon out in a hurry―and it went with her shoes.
A black limo came in for a landing outside, tossing debris and dust in all directions as the ion drives surged to arrest the effect of gravity. She put on the best smile she could muster. Her gait wobbled, Partly from her continued hatred of high heels, but the rest came from feeling like she had been hung from the ceiling and used as a punching bag.
She made it to the car without tripping, close to fainting when Konstantin appeared out of thin air, opening the door for her. Hologram… Just a f―hologram.
“This was a pleasant surprise, Lyubimaya.” The false image pantomimed shutting the door for her after she gathered the gown around her legs and got in. He appeared at her side. “I am just finishing up a business meeting. We should arrive at the restaurant close to the same time.”
“I can’t wait to see you,” she said, through a Cheshire smile.
He bowed and faded away. She spent the remainder of a fifteen minute ride in silence, concentrating on unwinding the knots in her gut. Barfing all over Sam’s desk was embarrassing enough, but if she did that here with Konstantin, she would never want to go outside again.
As good as his word, Konstantin emerged from the gold-rimmed doors of The Five Corners. Another place where normal people had to wait three months for a table; normal, that was, in the sense of merely being wealthy―as opposed to Konstantin.
As soon as she saw him, the nausea faded. She ran to his side. The closer she got, the better she felt. By the time they settled into a table in the shadow of an enormous ice swan, she shivered with giddiness. Holographic wings around the sculpture moved up and down in time with distant violin music emanating from everywhere. Terraces lined the sides of the dining hall, each of five floors themed to a different geographical motif. Yellow and cream, the vault ceiling made her feel as though she were inside an immense lemon meringue pie. They sat amid a winterscape with staff dressed in white and blue, bedecked with sparkling crystal sequins. Bright azure holograms zipped here and there, snow faeries or fireflies. Above them was Ancient Rome, with waiters dressed in period garb. The third floor contained an amazing collection of African artwork and colorful dashiki-clad waiters. She leaned half out of her chair to peer over the edge of the fourth floor, catching glimpses of Chinese décor.
Konstantin chuckled at the girl-in-wonderland face. “This place is quite astounding, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. What’s on the top floor?”
“Pompeii, I think. Mostly Italian cuisine. It might be Mediterranean though; they change the themes every few months.”
A beep from her purse distracted her. The past twenty minutes, long enough for their appetizer to come out, had gone by in a blur of small talk. Her NetMini flashed an incoming text from Nila: “Evan in panic mode, be careful.” She tucked the device past the pistol, sliding her hand on the grip for confidence.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Lyubimaya.” He gestured with an empty glass at a nearby waitress with long white hair, bedecked in diamond snowflakes and swan makeup.
“Do you know anything about some company named Koloss… It owns Kukla Investment Corporation. That’s where Yevgeniy works, isn’t it?”
“Koloss… I can’t say I’ve heard the name.” He smiled at the ice-princess, thanking her for the refilled drink. “Should I?”
Soft, rubberized handgrips squished between her fingers. Her finger flicked at the trigger. “It turns out you own it. I think…” Dizziness swam over her brain, splitting her silverware into three copies, a mesmerizing dance that held her gaze for a few seconds before they faded back together. “I think… Yevgeniy is trying to hurt you. He’s calling demons, isn’t he? You know it. That’s why you studied ancient Sumerian stuff.” Her hand came out of the purse, off the E-90, and clasped the edge of the t
able. “You’ve been sending money to treasure hunters in Egypt. You’ve been searching for old books, maybe something that can protect you.”
Konstantin glanced at her with an unreadable face for a moment before the slightest trace of a smile curled his lip. He took a sip of his drink, straight genuine vodka, and set the glass down. “I am impressed, Kirsten. I did not think your people would give serious credence to the existence of such creatures. Yevgeniy thinks he is a threat.” He waved her off. “In truth, he is but a nuisance. I have learned enough mysticism in my years to keep his efforts at worst annoying and at best amusing. His desperation will reach the point where he calls on something he cannot control. Then”―Konstantin seized a stuffed mushroom from the plate and held it up, staring over it― “then, they will devour him.”
Chomp.
Despite it being only a mushroom that died, Kirsten felt a chill run down her bare back. Within a few seconds, his mirth caught on and she grinned. Amid the arrival of the main course―fish for her, pelmeni for him―their conversation wandered far away from anything to do with demons, about-to-be-executed commissioners, or finance. By the time he walked her to the limo, she found herself wrapped around his arm. She had managed to limit herself to one glass of white wine, albeit a large one. Am I drunk? Why do I feel like I’m going to fall over if I let go?
“Mmm,” she cooed. “I’m so happy right now, I feel like nothing matters but being with you.”
“Lyubimaya, you can free yourself from such unhealthy stress. As my wife, you would not need to work. You could spend your days with your boy, and your nights with me. You could sleep the sleep of angels, free of worry.”
Kirsten closed her eyes.
“Alas, I fear you are quite dedicated. I would invite you to my home, but I expect your work calls you.”
She bit her lower lip, pulling herself up by the grip she had on his arm. “I want to go with you.”
“You know not how long I have waited to hear those words leave your lips.” He brushed his cheek across hers; a gossamer kiss on her mouth.
Division Zero: Thrall Page 34