Chameleon Uncovered (Chameleon Assassin Series Book 2)

by BR Kingsolver

  He handed me an envelope and said, “Let’s go someplace a little more private.”

  That I agreed with.

  We found an Asian restaurant with private rooms and I ordered lunch. Mike drank the bag of blood while I went to the washroom and read the letter from my mom. In addition to the letter, the envelope included a credit card to a Swiss account with a hundred thousand credits, and a set of identification. I studied the photo and committed it to memory, along with Prisha Kumar’s vital statistics.

  It gave me a warm feeling to know that I was still Mom’s baby girl and she was looking out for me.

  The letter was short.

  Libby, Mike is completely trustworthy. He worked for your father at MegaTech, is a trained bodyguard, and nothing you do will surprise him. If needed, he excels at wet work. He knows you are a chameleon.

  Don’t be a damned fool. If you need to run, do it. Cleaning up messes is much easier when you’re alive.

  Love,

  Mom

  I went back to our little room to find my pho and eggrolls, and Mike with a satisfied expression on his face.

  “So, you used to work for my dad?” I asked before spooning some of the soup into my mouth.

  “I worked for MegaTech for twenty-five years, the last twenty for Jason. After his accident, things just weren’t the same, so I retired. Your mother was gracious enough to offer me a position as her head of security.”

  My head snapped up and I stared at him. His diction had changed completely from ghetto vamp to educated corporate.

  “You’re educated,” I blurted out.

  With a chuckle and a nod of his head, he continued. “Yes. Both of my parents worked for MegaTech. My mother was a technician, and my father was a designer. I majored in electrical engineering. I can trace my family tree back to the first mutations in the late twenty-first century.”

  “So, why the act?”

  “Most people are more comfortable with vampires who are intellectually inferior to them. It helps them to deal with our physical superiority. Father thinks people are more afraid of smart blood-sucking monsters than of dumb ones.”

  The top of Mike’s head was even with my mouth when he stood next to me, but he was built like a block of granite. I knew vamps were faster and stronger than normal humans. They also lived longer. Mike looked to be in his thirties, no older than forty at most.

  “You worked for MegaTech for twenty-five years after you graduated? Do you mind my asking how old you are?”

  He gave me one of his toothy smiles. “I’m fifty-six. My parents are in their nineties. Mama still runs half-marathons, and Father races sail boats.”

  “In her letter, Mom said you know about my mutations.”

  “Mutations?” He cocked his head. “I know you’re a chameleon. I’ve known that for years. You have more than one?”

  “You seem to accept that rather easily,” I said. “Have you known other chameleons?”

  “I’ve known that Lizzie and Libby were the same girl since before I went to work for Miss Lilith. That seems to be very different from what most consider a chameleon. I’ve known two people who could blend into the landscape, like the lizard, and become almost invisible. I’ve never heard of someone who was a true shape shifter.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not. Lycanthropes change their shape more than I do. It just looks as though I’m different.” I let go my disguise and morphed into my real self. “This is what I really look like, but I don’t physically change.”

  “That is…astounding. It’s instantaneous.”

  I changed my peach-fuzz blonde hair back to its former long wavy red. Then I changed my clothing into a gold satin evening gown. “I can manipulate or hide what I touch, up to a point,” I said. “But nothing really changes.” I morphed into Jasmine. “This is the persona I’m using at the moment, the one I used to check into my hotel.”

  “So, if you walked through a security camera like that, the people monitoring it would see the real you.”

  Ah, the paradox. “Actually not, and I don’t know why. Dad hooked me up to a bunch of sensors, and they showed that nothing about me changed. But cameras see me the way people see me. Have you ever known a psychic who could manipulate electronics?”

  He shook his head. “Only your mother.”

  “Hmmm. I have her gift, but I don’t think that it’s psychic. It’s a measureable physical ability, like an electric eel, only in reverse.”

  “Maybe your ability is an interaction between two or more mutations,” Mike said. “The electrical manipulation and a chameleon mutation.”

  “I’ve wondered that. Dad says that he’s never heard of anyone like me. On the other hand, no one has ever studied a chameleon. Dad said that all the ones he’s met or heard about were thieves. I know that I don’t have any desire to walk into a university research department and tell a scientist what I can do.”

  His chuckle was very dry. “After what happened in the late twenty-first and early twenty-second centuries, no mutant volunteers for that.”

  Some of the experiments scientists conducted on mutants were sickening to read. The backlash included mutants slaughtering whole staffs at some research institutes. The suspicion on both sides had never disappeared.

  Chapter 14

  Orlando Ortega called that evening.

  “Deputy Director Wilberforce has asked for a meeting tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “Are they planning to arrest me on some new trumped-up charge?” I was lying on my bed watching a vid on the screen. Mike had the room next door, but I didn’t know if he was in or out. Vampires usually don’t wake up until after dark.

  “No, I don’t think so. He said that he wants to release all the evidence they gathered and formally drop all charges. He also said he wants to talk to you about the insurance company’s investigation into the robbery at the Institute.”

  “Damned decent of him, considering that they never formally charged me with anything.”

  He chuckled. “I did ask what charges he was talking about, and he was evasive.”

  So, Mike and I grabbed a train and braved the morning rush-hour trip downtown to Chamber headquarters. Ortega and Miss Molly awaited us on the sidewalk in front of the building with Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago chiseled into the stone above the entrance. Only the strongest banks survived the dislocations of the twenty-first century, and I guessed that wasn’t one of them, in spite of its impressive, enormous Corinthian columns framing the massive front portico.

  A sign showed that the Chamber shared the ancient building with the International Monetary Fund and the International Court of Settlements.

  Ortega broke out in a big smile when he spotted us. “Michael! Long time no see. How have you been, my friend?”

  “Lying back, enjoying retirement,” Mike said with a smile as the two men shook hands. “Feeling a little bored, so I thought I’d come down and pester one of my many goddaughters.”

  I stood there with my mouth hanging open watching Mike and the lawyer catch up. I glanced at Molly, and she looked as bewildered as I felt.

  Mike eventually turned to me and said, “Orlando and I were roommates at McGill. Our parents all worked for MegaTech.” Turning back to Orlando, he said, “Shall we go in and see what the mighty Chamber has in store for our Libby?”

  “They say it’s a small world,” I muttered to Molly as we climbed the steps to the building.

  “Aye, they do say that.”

  To my surprise, Wil was waiting for us at the front security desk and waved us through even though Mike and I set off the metal detectors. I made introductions. Orlando and Molly in their business suits looked like lawyers, but Wil looked askance at Mike.

  “Mr. Di Blasio came down from Toronto at my parents’ request to watch my back,” I explained.

  Mike stepped forward and shook Wil’s hand rather vigorously. I thought I saw Wil wince.

  “Good to meet ya, Mistah Wibberferce,” Mike said with his best idiot
bouncer smile.

  Wil led us to a conference room on the second floor where three boxes with my possessions sat on the table.

  “Check it all out,” Wil said, waving at the boxes. “I don’t know if that computer is still functional or not. The electrical charge almost killed one of my techs. No one has tried to touch it since. The general opinion is that the booby trap probably fried the computer as well.”

  “That equipment is very valuable,” Orlando said. “If you’ve harmed it, I assure you we will be presenting you with a bill.”

  I opened it and turned it on, assuring myself that the insulation between the case and the internal components had served its purpose in protecting the electronics and data.

  “It’s working,” I announced. “If you’d ever bothered to ask, I would have told you it’s secured against thieves.” Only Mom and I could get through the security, since we weren’t affected by the electrical charge. The voltage could have killed the tech if he had a heart condition. It certainly knocked him on his butt. If he’d handled it with rubber gloves and managed to open the case, the charge when he tried to turn it on would have fried the computer, and possibly killed him even with the gloves.

  My phone was still locked, as was my tablet. My credit cards, identification for both me and Jasmine, my jewelry, makeup, toiletries, and everything else appeared to be present and undamaged.

  “It’s all good,” I told Orlando.

  “Well, in that case, I think we’re clear with each other,” Wil said.

  Orlando looked to me and I gave him a raised eyebrow and a slight shake of my head.

  “Not exactly,” Orlando said. “We’ll still be suing the Chamber and the Institute for assault, false arrest, illegal imprisonment, kidnapping, and defamation, in addition to damages for loss of income, professional reputation, humiliation, emotional and physical trauma, and stress.”

  “Don’t forget breach of contract,” I said.

  “Of course,” Orlando replied. “Mr. Wilberforce, if I were you, I would engage a good attorney. The Chamber’s lawyers are going to feed you to me without a second thought.”

  “You should have signed that prenup,” I told Wil. “You know what they say about a woman scorned.”

  Molly, who had been staring at Wil with glazed eyes, snickered.

  “Mr. Ortega said you wanted to talk to me about the insurance company’s investigation,” I prompted.

  Wil tore his eyes away from Ortega and said, “Yes. Myron Chung is their lead investigator. He would like to meet with you at the Institute this afternoon, if it’s convenient.”

  “Convenient for me? When did people around here start caring about my convenience?” I shrugged. “Sure. About damned time someone decided to investigate the robbery.”

  “Someone tipped off the news media about it,” Wil said.

  I nodded, and looked up to meet his eyes. “I don’t threaten. I told you I was going to call them. Are you aware that the Institute didn’t notify the insurance company?”

  “So I found out.”

  “Think about why. There’ll be a quiz.”

  He didn’t say anything, but he looked profoundly unhappy.

  We put all my stuff in Orlando’s aircar, and he gave us a ride to the Institute.

  Jessica met us at the entrance and guided us to a set of offices in the administrative wing. We walked to an inner office past a woman and two men working at desks. An Asian man, Chinese maybe, around fifty years old greeted us. His black hair formed a ring around the bald top of his head.

  When he stood to welcome us, I realized he couldn’t be much taller than five feet. He looked at my entourage and said, “If you please, Miss Nelson, you’re not a suspect in my investigation. But I really need to speak with you privately.”

  “I don’t need a lawyer?”

  “I hate to disappoint you,” he said with a thin smile, “but no, you don’t need a lawyer.”

  Mike took the hint quickly. “That’s great. We’ll have time to see some of the exhibits. Call me when you finish, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Mike.” I watched him and the lawyers back out of the office.

  “I’m Myron Chung,” the small man said and pointed to a chair. “Won’t you please have a seat?”

  My reports—the ones my dad and I wrote—sat on his desk. Also on his desk were all three of my contracts with the Institute, pictures of the missing art works, and a dossier with my name on it.

  “I’m surprised you’ve ruled me out so early in your investigation,” I said. “Everyone else seems to think I’m the obvious suspect.”

  He shook his head. “Actually, I ruled you out as soon as I read your report. You’re far too intelligent to pull a stunt as stupid as this. Besides, Jason Bouchard is too smart to let you do it. You have a fine career ahead of you, and I’m sure you saw this contract as a feather in your cap that you could use to truly make your mark.”

  I released my breath in a whoosh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Things haven’t exactly worked out how I expected.”

  We went through several things in my report, trends rather than individual items. Then he turned to my current contract.

  “I’ve informed Director Zhukoff that I believe you should be allowed to complete your work. If you don’t do it, someone needs to. Hiring another firm would just delay things. She said she would inform the board, and she should have a decision in the morning.”

  “Thank you. That would be a relief.”

  “You’re welcome. I hope that we can speak again if I have any questions. Or any theories. It’s sometimes helpful to bounce ideas off an outside party.”

  “Of course.” I was so filled with relief that I thought I’d burst. I wanted to jump up in the air and cheer, but that wouldn’t have been terribly dignified. Mr. Chung didn’t look like the type who’d appreciate a hug. Instead, I went and found Mike and showed him some of my favorite parts of the museum.

  Chapter 15

  It felt good to get back to work. No one had messed with the equipment I left at the museum, so it didn’t take me long to get back on schedule.

  On the other hand, I didn’t feel comfortable in Chicago, especially knowing what I did. Mike stuck around, and we continued to stay at the hotel in the mutie district. With his background, he proved to be a big help in installing new equipment and fixing some of the physical issues that needed correction.

  Seeing Deborah every day was uncomfortable, but Jess seemed friendlier now that her boss wasn’t so obviously trying to seduce me. Jess and Deborah’s relationship struck me as rather unprofessional, but who was I to judge?

  Mike came around in Joe Wilson’s old car and picked me up after work.

  “Change into that Jasmine girl,” he said as we headed south. “I want to take you to a restaurant I remember.”

  “But you don’t eat regular food,” I said.

  “Maybe not, but the food smells great, and they serve fresh pig blood.”

  Okay. I could live with food that smelled good. I hoped it also tasted good. But as we drove, I began to have my doubts. Some of the neighborhoods along our way were worse than the worst areas I’d seen in Toronto.

  “Nice neighborhood. Bet we could get some deals on real estate,” I said, looking at block after block of crumbling row houses.

  Mike chuckled. “Even the cockroaches and rats have abandoned parts of this city. This area, was a slum even before the wars. Back then, poor people of various ethnic descents were often confined to ghettos, much as the muties are now.”

  The history of The Fall had always fascinated me. Areas such as the one we drove through were decimated by the plagues and food shortages in the late twenty-first century.

  “Are we going to a mutie district?” I asked.

  “Yes, a rather affluent one compared to anywhere in Toronto. There’s almost another economy going on in parts of the city, and Chicago’s southwest side pretty much ignores the corporations. Muties moved in and took over businesses in the old
ghettos. Along with the Africans already there, and the Mexicans coming north as a result of the desertification of the Southwest, it’s an indie ecosystem.”

  The neighborhood we stopped in looked a lot better—the buildings were in good repair, and the people out on the street were well dressed and most wore filter masks. Some businesses were still open even after dark, lots of boutiques, bars, restaurants, a corporate pharmacy, and a non-corporate grocery store.

  We parked on a side street, and Mike led me to a place called John’s Barbeque. It didn’t resemble the fancy barbeque place I knew in Toronto at all. Butcher paper covered the tables instead of linen, the patrons were casually dressed, and we ordered through an automenu instead of with a live waiter.

  The food was different, too. Lots of meat—pork, chicken and sausage—but with reasonable prices, which alerted my sense of self-preservation. God only knew where cheap meat came from, or what kind of poisons it contained, and I’d grown up hearing about people dying from eating contaminated food.

  I looked up from the menu and met Mike’s eyes.

  “It’s safe,” he said. “Your father introduced me to this place. It’s a total family operation. The meat is all raised on their own farms outside the city and fed corn and soybeans they grow themselves. Jason usually ordered the ribs, but sometimes he got chicken.”

  The food was incredible, tender and smoky, with a sweet, spicy sauce, potato salad and baked beans. I ate until I thought I’d explode, washing my food down with a good dark beer. Mike’s meal came in a glass, like the ones some places used to serve milkshakes, and it even had a silly umbrella.

  At least half of the clientele had dark skin, with enough vamps that Mike and I didn’t stand out. Mercifully, the lycans and trolls were seated in another room so I didn’t have to watch them eat.

  After dinner, we lazily strolled back to the car. Although I didn’t think we stood out in any way, I noticed a number of people watching us. Stopping in front of a closed shop to look at the goods displayed in the window, I saw that several of our watchers were following us.