by Todd McAulty
I was impressed. That took determination and guts, and the way Mac was speaking, she didn’t even seem to consider it unusual.
But I had to make sure she wasn’t wasting her time. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? What about the personnel Renkain needs to be trained to open those floors?”
“Already taken care of. I spoke with Dugard—”
“Who is Dugard?”
“The broker for the two hotels that were shut down. He put me in touch with the property managers. We’ll have eighteen staff members here by lunch today and more arriving tomorrow.”
“Will they be trained in time?”
“Damn straight. I’m going to go bite Renkain’s ankles right now.”
“You’re amazing.” I meant that sincerely. The more time I spent with this woman, the more she impressed me.
She gave a weary laugh and locked arms with me. “You’re just not used to seeing me with clothes on.”
“That must be it,” I admitted. It was good to see her comfortable with me again, after the awkwardness of two nights ago.
Yesterday I’d finally had the chance to express my regrets for our truncated conversation, when Van de Velde had pulled me away in the lobby. Mac had waved it away, saying she understood completely, and then casually asked about Van de Velde. When I eventually returned the conversation back to us, I tried—unsuccessfully—to learn what it was she’d been on the verge of asking me before Van de Velde interrupted. Whatever it was, Mac was in no hurry to bring it up again.
Perhaps she was going to ask for help finding her son. Truthfully, I should have broached that topic with her myself. I wanted to. But I’d had time to consider it, and there was an obvious flaw in my plan. If Van de Velde carried through on her promise, I’d be arrested in two days—and Perez’s men would be combing the hotel camera records to review every meeting I’d had in the past seventy-two hours. That meant every word I spoke to Mac now would be scrutinized. I couldn’t afford to reveal the details of my friendship with Black Winter . . . and certainly not that we were exploring using drone search algorithms to locate Mac’s son. That could expose the fact that we’d monitored the same algorithms to disguise my own movements. That could lead to Sergei . . . and disaster.
So I was stalling. I was committed to helping Mac find her son, while I still could. I just hadn’t figured out how quite yet.
“You know you still owe me breakfast, right?” Mac said.
“I do,” I said. “But I have something to show you first. Got a minute?”
She glanced over to the front desk. There was no sign of Renkain. “I guess so. Why?”
“Come with me.”
We went into the business office, where I told the young man behind the counter what I wanted. In a few minutes we had it mocked up, and I gave it to Mac.
“This is our invitation to our fundraiser,” I said. “I want to send it out this afternoon.”
She read through it and nodded. “Nicely worded. Can I suggest a few changes?”
“Of course.”
We wordsmithed the invitation together. I also drafted a special invitation I wanted to send out to about a hundred individuals: the wealthiest members of the list and the most socially active.
“What’s that one for?” Mac asked.
“Special one-on-one meetings over the next few nights. I thought I would solicit donations directly. Try and land a few big fish.”
“Good idea. But how are you going to get these out today?” Mac asked. “There’s no mail in Chicago. The Venezuelans are still jamming bandwidth—and even if you convinced the colonel to let up for a few days, it will take days for the word to spread.”
“I’m not going to use digital mail,” I said. “We’re going to use old-school mail. We’re going to print them.”
“Print them? On what?”
“On paper.”
“What—all two thousand of them?”
“All two thousand one hundred and forty-six.”
“Where on earth will you get that much paper?”
“That’s the hotel’s total reserves. I checked last night. They use it for formal correspondence.”
“And what in the name of God are you going to do with two thousand one hundred and forty-six printed invitations?”
“We’re going to deliver them. By courier.”
“By courier?”
“Yes. That’s why you’re here. Didn’t you tell me once that you used bike couriers to deliver messages to properties throughout the city?”
“Yes—but Barry, this is an enormous job. It’s far too much for one courier.”
“I figured. How many do you think we’ll need?”
“All of them.” She tapped the desk, thinking. “You stay here, see if you can find a way to sort the invitations geographically. I’m going to go flag down a courier.”
“And tell her what?”
“I’m going to hire her to send a message—to all the other couriers.”
Mac was as good as her word. Within sixty minutes, she had wrangled nearly two dozen young men and women on bicycles. By then we’d printed and sorted nearly half of the invitations, loosely grouped by location. Mac began giving the couriers their assignments while I oversaw the last of the printing.
“Is this enough couriers?” I asked her. “They’re going to have to deliver nearly a hundred invitations each.”
“If we’ve sorted the invitations right, that’s no more than three or four city blocks per courier. They’ll have to work late, but most of them they can cover it in a single day.”
“How much is this going to cost?”
“A lot. And they all want to be paid in cash. Will that be a problem?”
“I suppose not,” I said gloomily. “But it’ll take nearly all the cash I have.”
“No worries,” she said, smiling. “Breakfast’s on me.”
XXXII
Saturday, March 20th, 2083
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After a long and very expensive day yesterday, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed when I got back to my room. But Croaker was so excited and full of energy it took until almost midnight to calm her down. Two volunteers from the front desk had taken her for walks during the day, but that did almost nothing to burn off her energy. I ended up walking her up and down the carpeted hallway of the thirty-third floor for nearly thirty minutes, until she finally collapsed in a happily exhausted heap at the foot of my bed.
“I think you’re officially recovered,” I told her. “I suppose you’ll want some real food now, eh, girl?”
I wanted to sleep in, but of course Croaker was bouncing on my head shortly after the sun came up. I walked her around the hotel with one eye open.
Sergei met me as planned in the lobby a few hours later. “Met” is probably too strong a word. He strolled through the lobby, took the escalator downstairs, and then walked out onto Lower Wacker. I closed up my notepad, stretched, and casually followed him about three minutes later, keeping an eye on the skies for any drones that displayed an unhealthy interest.
We met up a few blocks west of the hotel, under the concealing cover of Upper Wacker Drive. Sergei was in a buoyant mood. I had a lot to tell him, but it was pretty obvious there was something big he needed to get out first.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Antivirus works,” he said.
“Oh my God—it’s confirmed?”
“Thibault tested on four subjects yesterday.”
“I thought you wouldn’t know until tomorrow?”
“Antiviral agent works much quicker than expected. All four subjects showed improved symptoms this morning. Thibault has now expanded trial to t
welve subjects, four days ahead of schedule.”
“Oh my God, Sergei!” We embraced, and he gave me a weary smile. I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders. “This is fantastic news. Congratulations!”
“It is not me. Joy has worked without sleep for two days. Dr. Thibault has taken huge personal risks. You were the one to deliver the formula—”
“Sergei, just shut up for a minute and take some well-deserved credit. When was the last time you slept?”
“It has been . . . some time. There are still problems.”
“Like what?”
“Thibault has used nearly all of first batch of antivirus. We will need to get her more . . . and quickly.”
“I know but . . . now that we know it works, we can make it public, surely? Once Thibault spreads the word—”
But Sergei was already shaking his head. “It is still not safe. Not until results are conclusive.”
“Why not? Let me guess . . . Hayduk?”
“Da.”
“What’s he doing now?”
“I have no knowledge. But it is certain he is preparing something. He has made numerous inquiries, interviewed over a dozen specialists in command center. He is not merely asking questions . . . he is moving with purpose.”
“Has he questioned anyone working on the reactor?”
“Not yet. But it will not be long before he discovers that our antivirus works. Likely he has discovered already. Once that happens, things will become very dangerous.”
“Not for long,” I said. “Once Thibault makes public that the antivirus works, it won’t matter. Too much is riding on that cure for Hayduk to simply make us disappear.”
“Yes. But if he suspects we acquired cure from his data drive—and eventually he will—he will not rest until he learns how.”
“Fine. Let him. Let him learn it was me. By then, I’ll be safely in Perez’s custody. Hayduk can’t publicly accuse me of the theft of his data drive without implicating himself.”
“You assume Colonel Hayduk will not make preemptive strike. I believe he is already prepared to act.”
“Prepared? To do what?”
“He has moved a squad of personal guard from Sturgeon Building to hotel. They are billeted on eighth floor, separate from Perez’s soldiers.”
“Personal guard? What does he need his own soldiers for?”
“They are Venezuelan secret police. They operate outside normal protocol. They have extrajudicial powers.”
“Damn, that doesn’t sound good.”
There was a soft buzzing, about half a block west. A small drone had slipped into the tunnel of Lower Wacker, hovering a few feet below the concrete ceiling. It slowly glided in our direction.
Sergei and I exchanged a wordless glance. We changed direction simultaneously, heading north. The moment we were out of sight of the drone, behind a thick pillar, I pulled the drone jammer out of my pocket and turned it on. Sergei stood close, and we pressed ourselves against the cold concrete.
The drone hovered into sight. It never slowed, continuing east, toward the hotel. We watched it until it was safely out of sight.
“Come on,” I said. We resumed our trek west.
“Colonel Hayduk is preparing to make arrests,” Sergei said. “It will happen soon.”
“Who?”
Sergei looked troubled. “I have . . . made some discreet inquiries with people colonel has already questioned. There are two likely candidates. The less likely is Dr. Thibault.”
“Thibault? Why her?”
“In last few days, she has openly disregarded orders from army surgeon general. She has published updates on dire situation in northern Indiana, against instructions. She is preparing to publish results of trial with antivirus. And she will be coming to hotel in next few days, personally, to pick up more antivirus.”
“Damn it. Is there any way to warn her?”
“We are trying.”
“Who’s the most likely candidate?”
“You.”
My head snapped up. “Me?”
“Da.”
“Why me?”
“Colonel Hayduk has asked several specialists about civilians with unmonitored access to command center in last month and anyone who may have been able to tamper with drone records.”
“Damn it. He’s trying to figure out why the drones can’t see me.”
“Da.”
“You think someone in the command center fingered me?”
“Is possible. You are not only civilian who regularly visits command center, but there are very few. And your whereabouts cannot be accounted for during times when American war criminal was active.”
“Shit. Well, this puts a damper on my day.”
“I think you should return to Canada. Immediately.”
I grimaced. “It’s not that simple. I won’t be any safer in Canada; you know that. Hayduk can have me extradited from anywhere in the world.”
“Perhaps. But if Colonel Hayduk finds you, he will not only reacquire combat suit. He will also find drone jammer.”
I hadn’t considered that. If Hayduk was able to analyze and replicate the jammer, his spies could move freely anywhere in the world. That was a chilling thought.
I thought for a moment, and then shook my head. “I’m not running, Sergei. This is the place where we make a stand. Besides, if Hayduk wants me, he’s going to have to get in goddamned line.”
“This is very fatalistic attitude,” he said.
“I’m coming to terms with my fate, Sergei. I don’t plan on hiding, or running. If Van de Velde sticks to the schedule she gave me, she’ll tell Perez I have the suit in two days. I should be safely in his custody very shortly thereafter. I have no illusions that I’ll be a free man when this is all over. I have one hope, and only one—and that’s the antivirus. If you and Thibault can go public with conclusive proof that it works, then maybe Perez may be disposed to offer clemency for my part in this when it’s all over.”
“This is slim hope.”
“Maybe. But I’m in the same boat as you and Thibault. You know that. If I’m arrested, it will all come out, sooner or later. We sink or swim together.”
“As you wish.”
“Speaking of the suit, you damn well better be ready to destroy it the moment I get arrested. And Hayduk’s data drive, too. I don’t want Hayduk getting his hands on either of those things ever again.”
“I will make certain. What about drone jammer?”
“I’m keeping that with me until the end. Hayduk will never get it, trust me. Not intact, anyway.”
“That is good.”
We kept walking. There were a great many other things I wanted to discuss with Sergei, but we didn’t have much time left. “What about that distraction we discussed?” I asked. “What if I dressed up in the combat suit and made an appearance on the other side of town? Something to draw attention, keep Hayduk busy for just a few days?”
“This is worth considering. But very risky. I believe Colonel Hayduk is waiting for next appearance of American soldier. He has had much time and will be well prepared when it happens. I do not believe it will be as easy to disappear this time.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m ready to do it if it’s the only way. But I think I’ve already pushed my luck. How long until the bulk of the antivirus is ready?”
“Perhaps four days.”
“That’s great!”
“Perhaps. There are still many things that could go wrong.”
“But you’ve already produced a successful batch, yes?”
“Yes, a small one. Conditions at large scale . . . very different.”
“Are you worried?”
“Not worried . . . no. But next forty-eight hours are crucial, and we have no computerized process control. Purification process must be monitored every thirty minutes.”
“Every thirty minutes? Good Lord. You’re not going to get much sleep.”
He managed another humorl
ess smile. “No.”
Sergei didn’t want to raise suspicion by being gone long, so we started walking back to the hotel. “Will Van de Velde really expose you to colonel?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m getting mixed signals from her, to be honest. Right after she told me she was going to do it, she kissed me.”
“She kissed you?”
“Yeah.”
Sergei looked confused. “Kiss like Judas or kiss like you have cute ass?”
“A cute-ass kiss.”
“This does not make sense.”
“I know.”
“You do not have cute ass.”
“I know.”
Sergei shrugged. “It would be better if she does not betray you. But we must prepare as if she will.”
“Funny thing about that,” I said. “I met with the colonel this morning, and he asked me to spy for the AGRT. Specifically, he wants me to help him find the American war criminal in the combat suit.”
Now Sergei had a pained expression.
“What?” I said.
“You were supposed to keep low profile!”
“I know.”
“Becoming spy for colonel is not keeping low profile.”
“I know. But he agreed to share everything they have on the American so far. You have to admit, that could be useful.”
“Or it could be trap. Perhaps he is working with Colonel Hayduk. Perhaps this is part of plan to catch you.”
“Yeah, I thought of that. But you know what they say . . . keep your enemies close. And at least being a spy means I’ll finally get paid for all this damn overtime.”
XXXIII
Sunday, March 21st, 2083
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XXXIV
Monday, March 22nd, 2083