by Scott Rhine
“W-which scandals?” Laura asked.
Grant listed several, and she began to hyperventilate. “Impossible,” she said. “Where are you getting your information? The company has net searches that automatically squash anything negative.”
“Someone called Bouryoku leaked the information to me, including film clips.” The Japanese nickname meant brutal or excessive force.
I can’t feel my face. She whimpered and put her head between her knees. The spaghetti churned in her gut. She ordered the cab to pull over in case she had to throw up. “My grandfather’s fix-it man? He sent them?” That meant that old man Mori had been collecting dirt on her for years.
“Yeah. Hoo. That table dance you did for those university researchers in the Caymans. Man. You are going to get offers off the hook.”
The cab was too confining. She had to climb out and kneel on the warm bricks. She fought to hold the nausea inside. I will not cry in front of the monster who’s doing this to me. I will not give him the satisfaction.
Grant whispered, “This is a good thing. I used it to get three of Bouryoku’s private IP addresses. Then I cross-referenced those against all traffic to the people involved with the semolina crisis. I have three hits—proof. This is our smoking gun. Grandpa’s plumber rigged the crisis.”
“Don’t you dare try to be nice to me, you bastard!” She pulled away from him and strode down the brick sidewalk toward Termini.
“We’ll walk from here.” He paid the cab and followed her. “This is good. Now I can hear your point of view.” He activated his brand new floating recorder and peppered her with invasive and painfully personal questions.
“What right do you have to ask me that?”
“Pretend the camera is Stewart. Practice explaining it to him.” She would be spilling her deepest secrets to all of them on a public street. Soon enough, millions would be watching in their homes.
Mascara ran down her cheek as she clinically related each violation. If Testsuo Mori was going to pull out the stops, she would too. She relayed her grandfather’s instructions and incentives. Since she had been a minor in all but one of the incidents, she wouldn’t be held responsible. After explaining how she seduced the prosecutor for the LA grand jury, though, Laura knew she would never be allowed near a courtroom again.
“And Mori forced you to do this, too?”
“No,” she admitted. “I did it to save Stu’s life.”
“Why? You’d just met him.”
She took a shuddering breath. “That’s just it. I touched his mind, and he was more decent than anyone else I’d known. Grandfather wanted him dead afterwards, so no one else could have access to the secrets. For that reason alone, I wanted Stu to survive.”
Grant handed her a tissue as they approached the door to the train station. He clicked a button on his drone. “Your interview is uploaded and ready for edit. Step into the ladies’ room here, and do whatever it is you girls do to pull yourself together. We’ll still be on time for the meeting.”
“I’ll pick up the tickets and meet you at the office.” At the moment, she couldn’t stand to be near the man who had demanded details about her every flaw. “Can you do the meeting yourself?”
“Sure. All we need there is proof that the calculation tables for that year’s crop planting came from Arlo Venturi, a programmer who retired to the posh lake district a few months later.”
“Why is that such a big deal?” Laura asked with a sniff.
“Farmers all over Europe made their planting decisions based on that faulty data. If we can show it wasn’t an accident, we have proof of conspiracy. I’ll be twenty minutes or so.”
They parted ways.
Chapter 28 – Warning
Laura blotted her eyes and meandered to the tourist information booth in the basement of Termini station. With proper ID, she was able to pick up both ticket packets. Attached to the stack was a ticket to the Vatican Museum with a 6:00 p.m. tour package.
“Scusi,” Laura said, holding out the ticket. “We didn’t ask for this.”
The woman behind the counter broke off her animated conversation with a police officer to glance at the ticket. “Sorry. No refunds.” She pointed to a sign in four languages that also warned of pickpockets.
Laura changed tactics. “It’s extra. Maybe it belongs to someone else.”
The woman shook her head and pointed to the comments section.
Sr. Thisbe,
A visit here may help with your research on the Borgias. Beware, the Vatican is one of the few public places where cameras, like your new Mori model, do not function at all. Elsewhere, cameras might record, even when their owners turn them off. Don’t be Giordiano Bruno.
Eowyn
Laura tried to decipher the message. Someone who tracked him to Mama B’s didn’t want to risk direct electronic communication. Was Grant a spy, or was this message from a paranoid informant? Just in case, she shredded the note and disposed of the pieces in two trashcans. Then she rushed back to street level.
Eowyn was the woman from Lord of the Rings who went toe-to-toe with a human king that the dark lord had corrupted … the Nazgul. Clearly a crusader’s alias, probably a fantasy gamer or a hacker. Since Laura had no weapons bigger than her nail file, she stopped at the sidewalk and pried up two brick chunks to give her purse extra heft.
While she strode briskly toward the government building to meet Grant, she linked to him through her handbag.
Grant answered, sounding chipper. “Forgiven me already?”
“I was in the mood for a trip to the Vatican Museum later.” The Mario cab with the crooked bumper trailed behind Laura like a stray dog. The advertisement board read, Return Fares Half Price, but she waved the taxi away.
“I used to be a tour guide there,” Grant boasted. “It’s how I paid for journalism grad school. I majored in Renaissance history as an undergrad.”
There was no reason to buy him a tour. The time must be for a meeting.
She could do research on the web, but that might take hours. Besides, the message seemed very personal. “I could picture you reciting romantic poetry to Sif. How do you feel about the Borgias?”
Grant chuckled. “They remind me of your family.”
“And Giordiano Bruno?”
He laughed outright. “He was burned at the stake for saying the Earth revolved around the Sun. Legend says that as they lit the torch, he shouted, ‘Still it turns.’ A few years later, Galileo recanted his claims when faced with the same charges—a lesson in politics. I’d lecture about the topic in one of the papal courtyards where they have a giant, spinning globe sculpture.”
The note made sense now. My family has been spying on him through his new camera drone, and they’re going to kill him if he doesn’t give up his investigation. Laura shifted the brick-filled handbag to cover her heart in case snipers were lurking. As she ran, she scanned the area for surveillance teams. “Grant, I want to go to the interview with you.”
“That? Turns out the office has already closed. There’s an iron gate over the entrance. Even banks and tourist attractions take siestas here … and they wonder why the economy is a mess. I’ve been editing your interview here on the bench while I waited for them to return. My contact could be here any moment.”
Or it might be a setup. The usual clouds of drones were eerily absent now. No witnesses. She reached the address of the courtyard, searching frantically for assassins. Below the eight foot level, the government building was obscured from view by the brick wall. The delivery entrance was framed on both sides by solid, square columns. The tiny driveway was barred by a waist-high metal crossbeam that could be retracted.
She kept talking for the sake of any listeners. She needed to smash Grant’s camera before she could tell him the truth. Crouching beside the brick entryway, Laura complained, “Don’t they label anything around here? Could you come out on the street and wave so I can find you?”
Gripping the purse with both hands, Laura prepa
red to swing. The camera bot emerged a split second before Grant stepped over the barricade. She smashed the bot into the pillar with a gratifying crunch that reminded her of a cockroach.
“What the—? Are you crazy, woman?” Grant shouted. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”
The few people on the street stopped to stare. A hissing sound startled Laura. She glanced down. Orangina from the shaken and battered bottles in her purse was leaking out of the bottle onto her sneakers. The stream dribbled down the driveway ramp past a white chalk X on the ground.
Puzzled, she told Grant, “My family was listening to everything you said though your camera.”
She barely heard his muttered curses over the rev of an engine on the street. Tires squealed. She deduced too late what the X meant. Grabbing his hand, she tried to pull him clear, but his body was jerked from her grip.
The impact conducted the sound of the crash through her bones as she bounced off the side of the smiling taxi.
****
Laura gazed at the blue sky as the purse on the ground beside her buzzed to capture her attention. Her entire right side ached, but Laura staggered to her feet. It probably knocked Grant into the far wall of the courtyard. If I can stop the bleeding—
Shorter than the barricade, the taxi had driven underneath the metal bar until the passenger section hit. Police called it underriding when a car crumpled under a semi trailer like this. The bumper and barricade had acted like a giant pair of pruning sheers, slicing her friend in two. His legs had scattered on the ground, while his top had merged with the mangled vehicle. A quick scan of Grant with her Empathy talent revealed no signs of life.
This was the same cab that had delivered them to Termini. Was it originally supposed to run the barricade on delivery instead of pickup? She couldn’t catch her breath. A siren sounded in the distance. Drones poured into the area to survey the accident.
Her purse buzzed again, indicating an incoming call. She glanced at the ground to read the name of the caller—Bouryoku. She tapped the purse with her toe as if it might explode. “That’s what happens when people violate building codes and fail to file map updates. Against my professional advice, your grandfather has graciously extended you another chance. A second taxi will arrive shortly take you to the airport.”
“And if I refuse?” Laura asked. Would the Vatican give me sanctuary?
“Your mother is in another taxi already heading to the airport.”
“Mom has nothing to do with this. Nana would never allow her murder.”
The hateful man replied, “Perhaps, but her last lucid moment before her final compute trance will be the press asking her why you murdered Mr. Thisbe. He died shortly after a heated argument with you. You tried to bludgeon him to death. When that failed, you called a taxi you’d sabotaged to finish the job. The money Mori-san originally offered is off the table now. New deal: finish your mission in Brazil without delay, and we’ll make the murder charge go away.”
He hung up.
Laura had less than a minute. She linked to Oleander with encryption enabled. Mother had paid for the best purse available. Laura stood, covering her mouth with her hand so cameras wouldn’t be able to read her lips.
Oleander answered angrily, “Why the hell did you delay my flight?”
“Vatican museum garden courtyard with the rotating sculpture. Six o’clock. Meet a female informant for Grant.” Laura didn’t feel the need to tell Oleander to wear her invisibility suit or to sneak off the plane.
“What? Why?”
“Grandfather killed Grant and framed me. If I don’t see you again, take care of Stu.” The new taxi pulled up centimeters from the last one.
If Grandfather is using Koku to predict my movements, I have to stop playing the boring, dependable Laura. Koku hadn’t been able to understand her as a woman in love. To survive, she would have to change her external behavior to match her inner Salome.
She tossed the purse, bricks and all, from the window as they crossed a river. This should leave no physical link between her and the accident scene. As far as the Bartiluccis were concerned, she might never have left the airport. Her mother wouldn’t be considered competent to testify. Only the video evidence from after the accident remained.
****
When Laura met her mother at the airport, Kaguya asked, “How did you get hurt?”
“Bouryoku,” Laura replied. “You should see the other guy.”
Her mother handed her a clean outfit in a shopping bag. “All the other bags are checked. I brought this for you for after we landed in Rio, but you might need it now.”
Laura ducked into the bathroom. Horrified by her reflection in the mirror, she scrubbed blood spatter off her face and arms. None of the blood had come from her own injuries. Airport security would have detained her for questioning. She changed into the outfit her mother had provided—a flapper’s costume, where the fringes on the skirt swished with her every move.
They boarded the delayed Fortune Enterprises jet together. Instead of barring access, this time guards flanked Laura to prevent her from leaving. She felt relieved when she didn’t see Oleander in the front passenger section.
Laura stuffed her old, bloodstained clothes into the blue chemicals of the toilet to erase trace evidence. After she collapsed into a white leather chair across from her mother, she ordered an ice pack and a cocktail to sooth her aching face. Once they were airborne, Laura took a trembling breath and gulped her Belini.
When Oleander walked up the aisle behind her, Laura shrieked and snapped her champagne flute in half. “Why the hell are you still here? I told you—”
Oleander held up a finger. “I don’t work for you. You don’t tell me anything.”
“I risked my life sending you that message.”
“There was no way I could ride the damn subway invisible. Use you brain. Besides, with rush hour, I couldn’t get there in time.”
“God.” Laura checked the time on the cabin’s overhead map. “We’ve lost her. She tried to warn us, and now she thinks we blew her off.”
“Relax. I sent some of Mira’s guys to check it out.”
Laura sprang out of her chair to grab the front of the woman’s flight suit. “Eowyn will run from corporate types. Corp Sec is probably the group who—”
Oleander grabbed both of Laura’s wrists. A switch inside had flipped. With laser focus, she asked, “E-oh-one?”
“Yeah. Hacker. Crusader.”
“She? Tell me everything you know about this person.”
Breaking Oleander’s hold and pushing into the aisle, Laura replied, “I’ll help you catch Eowyn if you make me an official member of the Sanctuary consulate.”
“Why?”
Laura’s eyes darted toward her mother. “I need diplomatic immunity.”
“Why?” Oleander repeated, drawing out the word.
When Laura tried to lead Oleander away, Kaguya said, “Because she tried to help Stu so often against my father’s will, Tetsuo Mori is probably blackmailing her now.”
“It’s worse,” Laura whispered. “Oleander told me Stu respected the truth. So I explained my side on film for Stu—spilled everything. Then I gave Grant some of Grandfather’s secrets to research.”
Kaguya pulled out her new purse. “We can still salvage this.”
Laura grabbed the purse and deactivated its Internet capability. No one would be able to check the news feeds until Brazil. “No. Bouryoku made a few credible attempts on my life already. When that didn’t work, he framed me for a more serious crime.”
Oleander seemed genuinely sympathetic. “Girl, you are so screwed. I guess we can find a staff position in the mail room or something. I don’t know if Brazil has an extradition treaty with Italy.”
“For this crime, they probably would,” Laura guessed.
“Okay. Then you can live in the embassy if you have to,” Oleander agreed. “Stu has an entire floor of one of the campus buildings blessed by the bureaucratic gods or somethin
g. As head of Sanctuary security, I’ll write you a hall pass. Now tell me how we find Eowyn.”
Sitting on the arm of the chair, Laura related everything she knew and had guessed. “Eowyn is a superhacker, probably with the Mind-machine Interface talent. She hates my grandfather and anything corrupt and corporate. She likes medieval things, and Grant took her on a tour of the Vatican Museum when he worked there as a guide. By now, she’s probably taking the Metro to the airport to get the hell out of Rome. But don’t research her from this plane because our web access has been tapped.”
“Why the Metro?” her mother asked.
“She’s never going to take a cab again. I won’t either.”
When Laura evaded, Oleander told her what to expect as a prison inmate.
Kaguya added, “Laura’s an Active. They go to special penal colonies now. If the Italians can prove she used her talents in the crime or if they’re sufficiently afraid of her, the prison will lobotomize her to remove her talent.”
Crawling into a corner, Laura shouted, “Stop it!”
“We can’t help you if you don’t tell us everything,” Oleander insisted.
Laura related a sanitized version of Grant’s interview through her cab ride to the airport. Both women had a stream of questions. The whole time, Laura kept thinking, This is what hell is going to be like—confessing everything I’ve ever done wrong to my mother and my new boss. At least I can thank God that Grant never finished the special on me.
They grilled her off and on for hours. When Kaguya defended Laura’s actions, she made the Mori family sound even more dysfunctional. “You can’t call that sexual slavery. Like you’ve never made a man do something he didn’t want to by taking him for a spin on top of an industrial-grade washing machine.”
The flight attendant started taking notes.
When Oleander offered moral judgments, Kaguya would snap back retorts like, “Tell me again how you had your daughter after Johnny announced his engagement to another woman?”
“Tell me how you had yours after Z was married,” Oleander replied. Thankfully, the sparring was limited to the verbal.