He and Brad should have been congratulating each other on finding it. Jason wanted to go back in time to the hilltop after their bike ride and make another choice.
What of Zarather and the men at his house? If that’s what the CEO faced, who could blame him for how things turned out? Brad’s death had to mean something. Zarather must have had the best of reasons for making this happen. Didn’t he?
The contact at the address in Zarather’s note had to know more.
Jason channeled his anger into a fast jog to the cage. A foot of soil and grass still sat on top, and chunks of fallen dirt lined the base all the way around. He unlatched the gate and swung it out. Lights on the ceiling made it hardly brighter than a full-moon night, but they lit the vehicle well enough.
It was an older model. Not Zarather’s style at all, but perfect for running incognito during serious political strife. For off-road driving it had rearview mirrors, a steering wheel socket, and standard control pedals. A dashboard compartment contained the wheel itself. The computer allowed full manual mode only when away from paved roads.
The keys lay on the seat.
If Zarather had done his work properly, it should be untraceable. Jason would find out the first time he passed a traffic camera.
He drove the SUV over to the capsule, gathered up the parachutes, and stuffed them inside the vessel. In the back of the vehicle he found a tow hook and used it to drag the capsule over to the cage. Another gate on the other end of the cage enabled him to drive right through until the capsule sat inside. Jason unhooked it and used the remote to start the cage’s electric motor, cranking it into the ground.
He knelt on the grass, refusing to look at the machine and clutching his forehead in his hands while tears dripped down his face and off his chin. He wished the rhythmic whirring and ticking would continue forever, but too soon the mechanism fell silent.
The settling of the grass roof at ground level left the area tidy enough to hide it from the surveillance satellites that would be searching vast swaths of land.
Jason stood in silence for a moment. He vowed to return and retrieve Brad’s body and give him a proper burial. Or send someone else to do so.
Back in the SUV, Jason gradually found his way over the lowest hill, then drove a few more miles cross-country to a dirt road and set out for the address on the note.
Seven
IN DARKNESS THE SUV drove toward the town where the contact lived. Jason lay on the backseat, bouncing a tennis ball off the side window and catching it.
He threw the ball harder, rattling the window as the ball shot back and bounced off the roof and the opposite window before hitting his head. He grabbed the ball and squeezed it in his hand until his fingers ached. Then he threw it again.
Police could stop him if he wasn’t strapped in. Seat belt laws remained in place because the public reacted strongly to fatal crashes. Their rarity and the loss of control over your own fate grabbed people’s attention.
Too many questions during a traffic stop and he could be found out. He couldn’t tell if the SUV was new enough to upload detailed data about weight on the seats and seat belt use. Officially the police had no access to that. At least not yet.
He carried on anyway. His thoughts drifted to the past.
In the year before the CMC’s rise to power, his parents had taken him on vacation to Clear Lake only weeks before they died. One morning he rose early and no longer felt sleepy, so he walked to the shore. Maybe a mile out, a tiny figure swam toward him. He paddled his canoe out to discover a guy his own age crawling slowly across the water in a determined marathon swim. The swimmer rolled on his back and laughed loudly. “My boat sank.” He laughed again. “Guess the patch job didn’t work so well. I could use a ride to shore.”
The kid crawled onto the hull of the one-man canoe and introduced himself as Brad. Jason managed to keep the thing upright. Without breakfast, he felt faint for most of the return journey. They lobbed themselves onto the shore, and by sunset their reputation for antics had spread so wide that other visitors to the lake grinned or frowned at the sight of them.
Jason’s attention returned to the present. The flat, dry landscape and distant hills slowly became visible in the predawn light. Only about fifteen minutes to go. This person had better have an explanation, and a way to contact Zarather. The contents of the computer had to be worth Brad’s life, at least.
He would be crazy to risk arrest so close to discovering all of that.
Jason sat up and shoved the seat belt buckle into the slot. It was best to go past and check the place before pulling up outside. Parking a block away and walking could draw attention. Better to look discreetly while passing by, then loop around.
On a whim, he climbed into the front, opened the web browser on the dashboard display panel, and selected the news headlines.
“Sam Zarather flees tax probe after torching own house.”
He froze. The seat seemed to plummet beneath him, like when the rocket motor had shut off.
“Evaded capture after first-ever use of escape rocket.”
They thought Zarather had used the rocket.
He slammed his fist onto the dash. “Bastard! You used us to get the laptop. I’ll find you and make you pay. You’ll pay for your fucking tax records, you asshole. Pay with five in the face.”
Maybe the best thing he could do was hand in the laptop and tell the story.
He opened the navigation screen to find the best place to do that. But he left the SUV on course. The image of the armed goons at the secret door made him pause. They weren’t from any recognized police force or government agency. What the hell?
Another paragraph caught his eye.
“Before escaping in the rocket, Zarather burned down his own mansion to destroy evidence. Fire prevented police from entering, and they were unaware that the suspect had retreated to the escape silo.”
No mention of any agents killed or injured. What a load of shit. Like the lies and deceit that had raged through the old media before everything fell apart. But how many lies did he read every day?
Nobody did a tax fraud raid with plastic explosives and a shaped-charge expert. And every news outlet would have reported the death of two or more law enforcement officers. They’d lied about Zarather’s torching the house to make him appear guilty. Either he was actually on the run, or they had him in secret custody.
Lies and deceit everywhere. The contact had to have answers. Or more lies.
The SUV took an exit ramp off the highway. Jason entered in a route that took him past the house.
If the secret police discovered Jason’s role, he too would “disappear,” especially since he and Brad had killed some of their comrades. Whatever “disappear” actually meant.
The vehicle turned into the street.
Jason faced straight ahead while looking at house numbers out of the corners of his eyes. The contact’s house should be on the right at number 110. It wasn’t pinned on the map screen because he had set it up to drive past.
When house numbers in the forties rolled past, the end of the street neared. The last one on the corner was fifty-four.
He set the navigation to drive in a loop around the next street and return to the start. Zarather had said something about the house number. Something about Jason knowing what it meant. One one zero.
The crafty bastard had written it in binary, which meant the contact lived at number six. Not the greatest security measure, but maybe enough to allow the occupant to sneak away if goons came snooping around.
Jason’s SUV entered the street again and he examined the third house on the right. White fence, little round tree in front. Nobody down the side, front curtains open, middle-aged woman in a living room chair, nobody down the other side. The lady looked relaxed enough. Not like there were goons breathing down her neck.
Rather than draw attention with a U-turn, he fiddled with the navigation to set up another loop. Soon he rounded the corner again and pulled in
to the driveway at number six. Nobody opened the front door. He carried the laptop to the doorstep and rang the bell.
If he had misinterpreted the number, it would make for an interesting conversation. Best not to mention Zarather at all. He’d talk in code and see if she understood.
The lady opened the door. She smiled and said, “Yes?”
“I have a delivery for you. This laptop. It survived a fire.”
“Is that so? Did you bring your phone with you?”
“No.”
“Good. You’d better come in.”
He followed her into the living room.
“Rocket exhaust is very hot, isn’t it?” she said.
“It sure is,” Jason replied.
“My name is Susan.”
“Jason. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She reached out for the laptop and he handed it to her.
“Take a seat wherever,” she said. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She left the room and Jason collapsed into an armchair. His whole body felt lighter without the computer.
The house was clean and tidy, furnished with a sense of style. Some of the landscape paintings on the walls invoked the wildness of nature but all carried a sense of beauty and warmth.
A minute later Susan returned empty handed and sat in another armchair.
Jason said, “We shut the doors. Didn’t mean to burn the place down, of course.”
“I see. They were opened again with prejudice, I take it?”
“Yes. Shaped charges I think. I—” Jason gulped involuntarily. “I think two of them didn’t make it, that I saw. Maybe more.”
“I am sorry to hear that. It’s not what you set out to do.”
“We didn’t really know what we were setting out to do when we set out. But I’m not sorry about what happened to them. A good friend came with me to the house.”
He paused. She remained silent.
“It’s just me left.”
Her expression fell. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Sam felt that he had no choice but to ask you. Your encounter with him was a last-minute decision. I imagine he felt that you could get it done. He has an instinct about people and he trusts you.”
“What have we done, exactly?”
“This computer is of the utmost importance, and so is the project it’s a part of. Your friend will be remembered. However, the less you know, the better. Ideally, you’d go home and return to a normal life, but they’ll trace the events at the mansion back to you after a while. The enemy is smart and thorough.”
“The enemy.” Jason contemplated the words.
“Yes,” Susan replied. “We decided to use that term for clarity about what we’re doing. We are at war, and behind the scenes the conflict is rising. Your friend’s sacrifice has immense meaning.”
“So the laptop contains something for this war.”
“Complex designs for a particular plan of ours. For safety we transport such work in person, not online. All wireless communication devices in that computer are physically disabled on the circuit board.”
“Are there no backups of the data?”
“There were two other copies, but they were destroyed. We lost some people, including my husband.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jason said.
“Thank you. As you discovered, this is a dangerous game. We’re certain that the data was completely destroyed, otherwise the whole plan would become impossible. Sam’s involvement went undetected until last night.”
“So Zarather is heavily involved?”
“A key member. He’s on the run as far as we know. I guess they were watching him but he gave them the slip. They raided his place after realizing he was never going home again.”
Jason nodded. “They were watching him outside the office. A car forced the traffic to stop and then followed him.”
“Makes sense.”
“I don’t want to go home anyway. I can’t imagine going to work and carrying on as usual with this going on, and Brad’s body out there. I don’t suppose we can get him?”
“Our enemy will need to search a vast area to find the capsule, but it’s sparsely populated, so any activity will draw attention. You can bet they’ll retask the satellites they normally use to search for Crimson Unity attack parties. I’m sorry, we can’t go there now. Later we will, if things work out.”
“Am I on the most-wanted list? We got at least two people killed, probably sent some more to the burns unit, and took something they wanted badly.”
“They don’t know who you are, and we’ll keep it that way as long as possible. Sam’s deputy will sort things out at the office so nobody will wonder where you’ve gone. As for your family and friends, tell them that you’re on a ten-day Buddhist retreat.”
Jason laughed. “My grandparents will be bewildered and my friends will think I’m having some kind of existential crisis.”
Susan smiled at him. “Oh, you will have one of those, don’t worry.”
He rested his chin on his knuckles and sat in silence for a while.
“Did your parents pass?” Susan asked softly.
“They died on a trip to buy food right at the tail end of the Strife. My brother died during the worst of it.”
She paused and seemed to look inward, then said, “They were bad times.”
“Are they coming back?”
With certainty in her eyes she said, “Definitely, unless we prevent it. That answer is more reliable than any analysis Half-Bit has done. Don’t ask why.”
“What do I do now? If there’s a war, I don’t want to sit around doing nothing.”
“We’re extremely cautious in our recruitment, but we’ll at least find a safe place for you. We look after our allies.”
“The media faked the report about the mansion fire. I feel like I’ve lived in a bubble of hot air farted into existence by corrupt people. Count me in for your war. I want to know what’s going on—as much as you’ll tell me.” He was still unsure who to trust, but by getting involved he might learn more. The good days at Zarather Systems were over.
Susan rested her head against the chair and took a deep breath. “I need to speak with our cell leader. He’ll probably want to talk to you.” She pulled out her phone. “When Half-Bit outlawed encryption on everything but financial transactions, we found a way to hide a conversation in live financial data, but as a precaution, don’t use Zarather’s name. If decoded it could grab the attention of a CMC subsystem.” She placed a call and switched on the speaker.
“The new hire,” Susan said. “Are we keeping him on?”
Despite the poor audio quality, the man’s rich voice brought a commanding presence to the room. “Is he competent, reliable, or just lucky?”
“He’ll do well. I’m impressed by his escape from the enemy. His best friend gave his life.”
“All right. Let me speak to him.”
Susan moved the phone to the arm of Jason’s chair.
The voice continued. “I’m sorry for your loss, and I wish I didn’t have to ask you this—what do you think of your friend’s death? Who’s responsible?”
“Those goons are. They shot him.”
“What about the man who sent you there?”
“He had to act fast. They were onto him and the laptop is important.”
“Do you have any other thoughts about that situation?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I see. We’ll find you a secure place to live, and there’ll be computer work to do if you like. I can’t say how long you’ll stay underground.”
“Wait . . . I won’t be fighting?”
“Not as such. We are cautious.”
“I want to fight. I hold no grudge against your people.”
“Our cells work on trust. If you really want to fight, think deeply about your answers to the questions I asked. Take your time.”
Jason racked his brain. He tried to find words to convince t
he man but came up empty. For some time he sat without thought. Suddenly a flashback struck him—his foot booting the escape capsule in uncontrolled rage.
“Yes,” Jason said. “Yes, I resent him for sending us.”
“You and your friend didn’t know the level of danger.”
“No we didn’t. He used us. He did it for something vital to save our future—I believe that—but he set us up.”
“He made the decision to save the data at the risk of your lives. What do you think of that?”
Jason chose a reply carefully. “It was an arrogant decision.”
“Exactly. He believed it was necessary, but it was wrong too. He knew it. How do you feel about that?”
The answer came to mind immediately. “I forgive him. I understand. If he’d left me alone, the enemy would have the computer. There was no right answer, but one was better than the other.”
“Excellent. They lie, we speak the truth. Now, if you do join this war it will be tough, risky, it will wear you down, you’ll want out and you’ll hit rock bottom, but you must scrape up something to keep going. Will you?”
“I will,” Jason said.
“Should we lose, all people in the Western world will be denied their humanity. Half-Bit won’t stop at fifteen countries. Those stakes will hang over you. Any break in your will, any panic or loss of cool, you will die. Forget living to see victory. Take all necessary risks.”
“I understand.”
“You’ll fight well if you pass your induction. One of our people will get to know you first. Good luck.” The call disconnected.
“We are the Order of the Black Dove,” Susan said. “We tell our cell members only what they need to know; here’s what I can tell you.”
Jason leaned forward in eagerness.
Her faced shifted to a stern expression. “Our knowledge of these things is a secret. Never repeat them to an outsider. Understand?”
“I do.”
“About a year ago we learned that after studying human society for years, Half-Bit has likely concluded that the chaotic and irrational element to human nature is a problem that can and should be eliminated.”
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