by J D Lasica
“Any idea yet of why they came after you?” he asked.
“Not really. But now I’m wondering if you’re the reason.”
He didn’t flinch as he sipped his coffee. “Could be. I’ve made some powerful enemies.”
“Okay. Before we go there, you were telling me about the early days. Filling in my tabula rasa.”
He smiled at her stab at humor, but then his expression grew serious. “You were three when the doctors called. I was Deirdre’s emergency contact. Whenever we talked, she never let on that she was sick. I was in Yemen when they called with the news. It wasn’t good, Kaden. She had only a few months to live.”
His voice was low now, almost inaudible over the clatter of plates coming from the kitchen.
“Took the next flight out. We talked about whether we should get married. Whether I should raise you if it came to that. Your grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. I never got along with the old SOB.”
“But you could have done it. If you wanted.”
He still has no idea about my damaged childhood.
“I was a different person then. Spending ten months a year overseas infiltrating enemy networks. What did I know about babies? Your grandfather was already a billionaire, and you’d be his only heir. I figured the best thing for you would be if I got out of the way.”
“Here you go, hon.” The waitress deposited the wrap in front of her and the salad in front of Bo. “Enjoy.”
Kaden looked up and smiled. “Thanks so much.”
When the waitress left, Bo continued. “After she passed, I was heartbroken. Flew out for her funeral. Within a couple of weeks, Blackburn arranged for a couple to adopt you. With him being a billionaire and all, I figured you had a safe, loving home.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?” Bo looked concerned.
Now wasn’t the right time to tell him. In the years after her real mom died when she was three, Kaden felt as if she was living someone else’s life. Where other children had normal parents who did normal things with their kids, her adoptive parents would routinely monitor her calls, read her diary, document her traits, genetic defects, weight, and behaviors—even her menstrual cycles. She recently found out they were reporting back to Blackburn.
But she was trying to power through her past, not dwell on it.
“Let’s just say I had a less than ideal childhood. Not a big deal.”
He raised his body in his seat and his voice rose with him. “Good God, did they abuse you?”
She shook her head, wanting to quiet him down in this small room. “Not physically. Forget I said anything.”
He settled back into his seat and poked at a cherry tomato. “Maybe I should have quit my job and married your mother. Raised you myself. What was I thinking?”
He reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of hers. She flinched and pulled her hand away. The reaction was instinctive, not passing judgment.
“It’s too early for that,” she said.
Bo gave a serious look and nodded. “When you were a kid, I’d think about showing up at your door. ‘Hey, it’s me, your real dad.’ But how would that work? I was stationed abroad most of the time. I figured you could always track me down if you wanted to know your biological father.”
“I never knew I was adopted.”
“Really? That’s not right. I wrote to your grandfather once. He wrote back saying you were doing fine, that it was time for me to move on. So I did. After a while, I met someone. Eileen, an American graduate student living in Prague. We had a whirlwind romance—”
“Because that’s how you roll.” She bit her lip at letting that slip out. Unfair.
Bo just smiled. No meanness in him. “The marriage lasted fifteen years. We split up four years ago and she moved to New York. Overseas assignments are hell on a marriage.”
Kaden nibbled on her wrap but wasn’t all that hungry. “So how did I get on your radar again? And why now?”
“I was watching the news one day. Lo and behold, who’s on CNN? The young hero who broke up a forced surrogacy ring. My damn daughter, Kaden Baker. I’m proud of you.”
“And then you tracked me down?”
“My people did some digging and turned up the special ops missions you pulled off at the Vatican and in D.C. I’ve got to say, chip off the old block.”
“Nobody says that anymore.”
“Sure they do.”
“So here’s the million-dollar question. You’re not here to get me to follow in your footsteps. So why are you here?”
He went quiet and pushed his chair back to give himself space and distance. When he spoke again, a tremor came to his voice.
“Because. You have a sister.”
Just look at the resemblances, Bo Finnerty thought. The same high cheekbones as her sister. The same green eyes. Even the same Finnerty sass. Bailey looks more like her mom, Kaden looks more like me—the same olive undertones in her skin from the black Irish blood running in her veins.
He snapped back to real time as Kaden nearly spit the words at him. “What do you mean I have a sister? What does she have to do with this? I said no more secrets!”
“All right, slow down. Let me explain.” He took out his phone and swiped through a photo album. “This is Bailey. Your half-sister. She’s seventeen. Senior in high school. Or was.”
“What happened?”
“The Disappearance.” Come on, Finnerty, lay it out for her.
“She was one of the girls taken?”
Bo nodded. “I don’t think it was random.”
“How do you know?”
“The operatives on that bus were using a list when they targeted Bailey. I can’t shake the feeling it has to do with me.”
And now they’re coming after my other daughter.
“Why do you say that? I thought no one knew why those girls were taken.”
“We still don’t know the why. But Bailey being targeted was no coincidence. I’ve been on the trail of a lot of scumbags over the years.” He wanted to use a stronger word but hadn’t heard Kaden swear yet. “I’ve made a lot of enemies. This is the one way they can get back at me.”
“But you have no evidence.”
“Not yet.”
A look of clarity came to Kaden’s face. “And that’s why we’re sitting here.”
“Yeah. That’s my hidden agenda.” He braced himself. He wouldn’t blame her if she got up, walked out, and never spoke to him again. He wanted to use her to find his other daughter.
There’s more. I’m sorry. But I can’t tell you everything right now.
She went quiet. Finally said, “Gabriel’s killer. Let’s not lose sight of him. I need to find Dražen Savić.”
“Agreed.”
Kaden looked down at the digital photo of Bailey on his phone. Then she looked up and held his gaze with those bright green Finnerty eyes.
“Tell me how this would work.”
11
Samana Cay
Alex entered the Bliss Lounge, a private enclave for Fantasy Live members a few hundred feet from his suite. The entire Fantasy Live Resort was just southeast of the Samana Ventures corporate complex, which straddled the eastern boundary of Samana Village. This entire scam should be within walking distance.
Inside the lounge’s foyer, Rachel introduced him to his “personal accessories concierge.”
“We may be able to improve on these,” the concierge said, leaning closer to inspect the smartglasses on the bridge of his nose. It was clear she had reservations. “Please, have a seat.”
He sat and removed the glasses Rachel had given him on the yacht. He placed them on the tabletop next to a mirror with a brightly lit border.
“Please look into the mirror and let me know if any of these strike your fancy.” The concierge began projecting virtual glasses that matched the contour of his face. “I could see you in a Prada. Maybe a Marianela. Oooo, I’ll bet some Ray-Ban geometrics would look fab on you!”
&nbs
p; He didn’t care how fab he looked during his stay. He picked up his titanium glasses and checked them in the mirror. He figured Andrew Bayless would like the look. “These will do.”
“All right. Just want to make sure you’re in the right frame of mind this week.”
He stood and grinned at the bad pun. Rachel led him onto the back patio, already filling with guests meeting each other and making small talk. He stepped to the railing at the edge of the platform and took in the stunning views of the lagoon lapping at a long stretch of white sand. Halfway down the beach, a waterfall rushed down a lush tropical hillside.
If only my personal life were this tranquil and simple.
Rachel introduced him to three other guests huddled together in two armchairs and two loveseats set across from each other. William, Maurice, and Evelyn—he remembered her from the plane—were all wearing stylish designer smartglasses, each pair conveying a different attitude.
“I’ll be right back.” Rachel headed off to the bar set up on the patio. Just beyond the wooden railing, a bright-yellow hummingbird flitted back and forth.
“Let’s ask Andrew his opinion.” One of the men, with a bald crown and patches of trim brown hair that he must dye, wore owlish spectacles, giving him a professorial look—probably undeserved.
“Sure, William, what’s the question?” Alex liked that these new-generation glasses let you see everyone’s name without cluttering up your field of vision. He felt like he was walking around inside a movie with subtitles.
William started in. “You look like the youngest one here, so this’ll affect you more than us old farts. What’s your position on sex robots?”
“Did you really just ask him his position?” Maurice chortled. He had thinning gray hair and wore pink John Lennon glasses and a gold necklace beneath his open-collar shirt.
William ignored the gibe. “I mean, for the price of this camp I could have ordered a harem of sexbots. Have you seen the latest models? You know, the new ones come with swappable faces.”
“But have you ever tried to fuck one?” Maurice asked. “No thank you. Let’s see what Fantasy Live has to offer.”
William wasn’t done. He locked eyes with Alex. “How about you, Andrew Bayless? Ever gone to bed with a robot?”
Rachel arrived with Alex’s cocktail and sat on the love seat next to him. He took a sip. “I’m actually in a relationship. Haven’t seen the need to explore that option.”
He said it for Rachel’s benefit as much as for William. His girlfriend back in Miami, Valerie Ramirez, trusted him to go undercover—and use his judgment about how far to go. Valerie’s surrogate was three months’ pregnant, and while engagement hadn’t crossed their lips yet, it was certainly on their minds.
Maurice turned to Rachel. “Excuse the locker room talk, Rachel.”
“Nonsense.” She poked at an ice cube with her lavender fingernail. “The whole point of Fantasy Live is to leave those cultural stereotypes behind. You saw the sign at the airport: ‘No conformity past this line.’ You’re free to say anything that comes to your mind.”
“Anything?” William asked, and the others laughed.
Rachel nodded. “You American men have become so conditioned to suppress your natural urges, to police your thoughts and language, to never objectify women. So boring! And what do you get? Generations of unsatisfied men and women. Venus and Mars have never been so far apart.”
“Okay then, sweet cheeks. What’s your view of sexbots?” William seemed eager to test the boundaries of appropriate social discourse on the island.
Rachel tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. “I haven’t found one who can keep up with me.” She winked and they laughed again. “William, when you’re out and about on the grounds, I’m guessing you’d enjoy a new function on our smartglasses. Boys Will Be Boys Mode. Our AI can display a realistic approximation of what the women look like beneath their dresses as you pass them by. Doesn’t apply to guests, though.”
“That’s all right.” William’s smile got big. “Sign me up.”
Rachel leaned into the foursome like Tom Brady calling a play. “Okay, some quick business. During the week, I’ll be the personal ambassador for just the four of you. That means I’ll be checking in with all of you every day to make sure the Fantasy Storyboards our team has developed meet your expectations. Remember, you’re here to live out those fantasies.”
Evelyn swirled her liqueur. “I think we’ll keep you busy. I swing both ways.”
“You’ll have a male ambassador at your service, too.” Rachel’s lips curled a smile. “There are two ways to approach Fantasy Live. You can down shots, one after the other. Not so satisfying. Or, you can think of Fantasy Live as a fine bottle of Cognac to be savored over time. It’s all about pacing.”
“I like that.” Evelyn eyed the three men seated around her. “I mean, sorry, boys, I’m not here for a rich guys’ frat party. I’m here for something deeper. To explore the boundaries of light and dark without holding back. To role play and become someone entirely different. To probe new frontiers of eroticism and unlock the fantasies that keep me up at night for a long, long time.”
Now that’s interesting, Alex thought. Evelyn’s a woman who knows what she wants.
Rachel reached for a tablet computer on the side table. “I must say, Evelyn, your imagination has stretched our creative team to the limit. I think you’ll be pleased with the In-World simulations we’ve tailored for you.”
“I can’t wait,” Evelyn said.
“Now, one last piece of business.” Rachel’s eyes swept over the foursome. “Now, have all of you reviewed the Terms and Conditions?”
They nodded. Samana Cay was run more like a corporation than a government. Violate “the Terms” and visitors will forfeit their deposit and be sent home on the next flight out, banished for life.
Alex was fine with the Terms so far, and the boilerplate language in the contract he signed as Andrew Bayless didn’t surprise him. The Fantasy Live simulations would contain no bestiality, no pedophilia, no torture, no S&M, no physical violence of any kind. That would be “off brand.”
But how Fantasy Live’s stories would unfold was still a mystery. How realistic would these experiences be? Would it be Hooters for rich guys? Would it be some variation of virtual reality porn, with adult film stars trying to satisfy horny guys in smartglasses? Now that would be disappointing—barely worth a feature story in Axom.
There must be more to it. Why did they ask for him to send in photos, videos, and a detailed questionnaire about the women in his fantasies?
“Your literature described Fantasy Live as a ‘judgment-free, guilt-free, no-shame zone,’” Alex pointed out. “What’s that about?”
Rachel straightened. “We’re not out to change American culture. Think of us as an escape, a release valve from social and cultural tensions back home. You’re free to express yourself without worrying that someone’s passing judgment. Just be aware of one golden rule. Evelyn, would you hold your left wrist out for me?”
Evelyn stuck her left arm straight out.
“See?” Rachel brushed Evelyn’s arm with her fingertips. “Nothing on her wrist. Evelyn is a guest, not an Opt-In. Hands off the women guests—please treat them with respect.”
Rachel held out her own wrist as she circled the group. Their eyes fastened on her bracelet, a silver band with symbols—heart, pyramid, silhouette of a woman—outlined at the edges with strings of bright emerald green lights.
“This is an Opt-In bracelet. The most important rule of Fantasy Live is this. When you see a glowing green Opt-In bracelet, you’re allowed to touch.” She touched the side of her bracelet and it turned bright red. “But the moment the light turns red, hands off. No more touching. That’s important.”
William nodded. “So any Opt-In is fair game, or just you, Rachel?”
She flicked her bracelet’s color back to green. “You were assigned to me because I matched the requirements for your ideal typ
e.”
And now that she put it so bluntly, Alex saw that, yes, on the surface Rachel was the kind of woman he’d always fallen for. Through years of dating. Through three love affairs, breakups, and heartbreaks. She even resembled a younger version of Valerie.
Rachel positioned herself across from William. “To answer your question, yes. Any Opt-In in Fantasy Live is ‘fair game.’ Just be discreet. Groping in public is considered gauche. This isn’t Plato’s Retreat.” A blank stare from the guests. “Look it up.”
“As I understand this, women guests get the same fringe benefits, correct?” Evelyn asked.
“Of course. You’ll see male staff wearing Opt-In bracelets, too.”
“How far can we go?” William asked, then turned toward the others. “Come on, you’re all thinking the same thing!”
“Oh, William,” Maurice tut-tutted.
Rachel smiled. “Don’t hesitate to ask any question. Our policy is to provide full transparency.” She moved behind William and massaged his shoulders. “How far can you go? Opt-Ins are here to serve your needs and get you pining for the main event. But Fantasy Live is not a brothel, William. Our Opt-Ins are here to guide you on your journey. To help reawaken the desires of youth, the aching longings for your first heartthrob.”
William and Maurice looked at each other with expressions that said, Oh, really?
“Just keep in mind. Opt-Ins are the appetizer, not the main course.” Rachel rose, headed to the patio entrance, and turned back to them. “The Chairman comes on in five minutes. Let’s take our seats.”
12
Brooklyn and Manhattan
Kaden and Bo hopped onto the D train from Industry City to Greenwich Village. She joined him on a decrepit seat for two that didn’t look too horrific. She checked her messages and saw the encrypted note from Alex. He was worried about her and warned about this shady character Lucid in Samana Cay. She texted a reply, saying she was okay and she’d explain more later.