by Ted Cross
Her face wrinkled up and she covered it with a hand as she broke into fresh sobs. The gun drooped to her side. “This is not me,” she said. “I don’t hurt people.” She reached for her slot interface, then tossed something toward Marcus.
A data card landed on the floor a few feet away. It reminded Marcus of the longer card the man had taken from him, and he looked down to see it on the carpet near the man’s hand. He picked it up and held it out to the woman. “Miss…is this yours?”
She stared for a moment through wet eyes before nodding. She plucked the card from his hand. “Where did you find it? Never mind, it’s just good that you did.”
Marcus stood up slowly so she wouldn’t get jumpy and shoot him. So, one or both of these cards may be what Papa is after. He pointed at the unconscious man. “What about him? He might wake up.”
She stared down at the man, looked back at Marcus. “You…you tie him up.”
“How?”
She seemed to consider this for a few moments before shaking her head. “I don’t have any rope at home. Maybe we can lock him in the bathroom.”
“He’s awfully big,” Marcus said. “You sure we can move him? What if he wakes up while we’re dragging him?”
She made an exasperated sound and pointed down the corridor. “Pick up that card. It scares me, but it seems it can help.”
While she aimed her gun at the unconscious man, Marcus found the card on the floor and walked back to hand it to her. She stuck both cards in her pocket.
“I’ll get his feet,” she said.
“Miss, shou—”
“Zoya.”
“What?”
“Call me Zoya.”
Marcus took a deep breath and concentrated on getting the pronunciation correct from the translator. “Zoya, shouldn’t you be calling the police?”
“The police were helping these guys earlier.”
“Oh.”
It took a lot of effort for Marcus to push the man away from the wall so he could get his hands under the armpits. His grip slid off the man’s coat, so he grabbed the collar instead and began dragging the man across the carpet. Zoya was doing no good with the man’s feet and moved around to help from Marcus’s end.
“Who is this guy?” Marcus asked. “Sounded like he was with the military.”
“No, he’s a gangster.”
“Really? He asked me if a general sent me.”
Both of them were grunting and panting by this time as they wrestled the man across the carpet. When they paused to catch their breath, Zoya reminded Marcus that he still owed her an explanation for his presence. Plus his father would want answers.
“My father learned that someone plugged a special data card into the Web in your apartment. It’s something he’s been looking out for. He had nothing but the address, so he made me come here.”
“Are you really a diplomat?”
Marcus shook his head. “There was no other way to get me into Russia.”
“I figured you couldn’t be since you aren’t Mormon.”
“You have something against Mormons?”
“I don’t care about Mormons. I only know what the history chips have told me.”
“I doubt either of us can rely on our history data to be unbiased,” Marcus said. “The Mormons didn’t set out to rule the country. When slots became commercially viable, they banned them for their members. When Meshing became a problem, they were the only big group not affected. The country pretty much fell into their hands.”
Clearly wanting to change the subject, she said, “So, you really a doctor, or was that—”
“I just got my doctorate, though I’m no MD. I specialize in nanobotics.”
“And how are these cards supposed to help your father?”
Marcus reached down and grabbed the mobster’s coat again. “Let me mull that one over a bit. I’ll tell you, but I need to figure out the best way.”
As they turned into Zoya’s apartment, Marcus warned her not to look into the living room. He moved around to shield her from the view. Zoya looked pale, but she gritted her teeth and continued dragging. They finally got the man into the bathroom, left him sprawled on the tiled floor, and blocked the door with a nightstand from the bedroom.
Zoya pointed at the bedroom. “Could you give me a few minutes alone with my mother, please?”
Marcus nodded and walked into the dark bedroom. A light flicked on automatically, and he sat down on a recliner near the dresser.
«Papa, you get all that?»
«Yes. I think you need to get away from here as soon as you can. Whatever my dreams may be, I don’t want you getting hurt.»
«I want out of here, too, but I’m afraid to leave her alone right now. She’s in shock.»
«I don’t mean to sound callous, but I love you. I don’t know her. Please, Son, just get out. I need to know you are safe.»
«Okay. I’ll go.»
Marcus stood and walked to the doorway. Zoya was seated at the table near her mother. Her head was buried in her hands as she rocked forward and back again and again. He looked again at Zoya’s portrait on the wall, and this time her smile seemed to mock him. So innocent it looked, especially knowing what she was going through now. He felt the loss of innocence himself, if not quite so dramatically.
It felt wrong to speak while she mourned, but the longer he waited the more his imagination ran wild. He peeked out into the corridor, half expecting to see more gangsters. It was empty.
“Uh…I’m sorry, Zoya. It’s dangerous here. We need to go.”
She stood up, wiped her eyes with a sleeve, and turned to face him. He recognized the same murderous gaze she’d had while attacking the gangster.
“They broke her neck,” she whispered.
He nodded. Their eyes held for several seconds and he watched as hers changed from rage to helplessness and back to rage again. She stuck a hand in her pocket and grabbed the small chip, snapped it into her slot, and yanked the gun from the back of her pants.
“Well, you’re green now,” she muttered.
Marcus looked himself over. “What?”
“Never mind. It’s this card.” She ejected it and stuffed it in her pocket. “I’m afraid of it. Anyhow, I need to make some calls. These guys are looking for me, so they’ll go after everyone I know.”
“We can’t stay here! It’s too dangerous.”
“I have to make these calls. Go if you like.”
He saw she intended to plug into an interface on the arm of the couch. “You don’t have wireless?”
She looked up at him and frowned. “Can’t afford it.”
«She can’t use her Web line,» Javier said. «They put a physical trace on it, and it will take me some time to shunt around it without tipping them off.»
“You don’t want to use that line,” Marcus said to Zoya. “It’s bugged.”
“How do you know?”
Marcus’s face reddened. “It doesn’t matter right now. Look, you can make your calls through my wireless.”
“You’re awfully trusting, aren’t you?”
Sharing an interface was only done between those who trust each other implicitly, and Marcus knew almost nothing about Zoya. He knew he was letting his desire to know her overrule his common sense. “I probably am,” he said. “If the calls aren’t urgent, you can make them from my car.”
Zoya pulled a zip-cable from her pocket, sat down, and placed the gun on the table. “Thank you, but this can’t wait. Every moment puts my friends in more danger.” She snapped the cable into her slot and held the other end out to Marcus.
He joined her at the table and made the connection to his own slot. Most people could establish a connection on their own, but Marcus needed his father’s help; Javier served as a buffer between Marcus and the Web, in order to protect him from his Mesh addiction. «Father, can you allow the connection please?»
«Done.»
&nb
sp; Zoya looked indecisive.
“What’s the matter?” Marcus asked.
“Not sure who to call first. I’d call my Uncle Vasya, but he’s let his Web subscription lapse. I’m not certain who else Tavik knows about.”
“Tavik?”
“He’s the gang leader. I know he’s met my friend Oksana. I don’t remember if he knows Ira or not.”
“So call Oksana first, then Ira.”
She nodded and her face took on the look of concentration that most people got when they used the Web. Normally Marcus wouldn’t be able to listen in on such a call, but with his father serving as a bridge, he could hear the ring go through. It chimed four times before there was an answer. It was the auto-message service from Oksana’s apartment.
«Oksana!» Zoya said. «If you get this message, please get out of there quickly. You’re in danger. I’ll explain later. Remember where we used to meet for lunch during school? Go there and I’ll meet you when I can. Okay? Sorry to be so mysterious, but I have to warn other people, too. I…I’ll see you soon, I hope!»
Zoya severed the connection and whispered, “Damn, she’s either not at home or they already have her.”
“Call your other friend,” Marcus said.
This time the connection was picked up immediately.
«Ira, this is Zoya.»
«Zoya! What happened? You sound terrible. What’s—»
«Listen. Georgy’s friends are looking for me, so they’ll probably show up at your apartment, too.»
«Georgy’s friends?»
Zoya’s mental voice cracked even over the interface. «They murdered Georgy and Mama already. They—»
«No! Oh, Zoya, I can’t—»
«Please, Ira, there’s no time. They can show up any moment. Take your family someplace safe for a few days, somewhere they won’t find you.» She considered who knew Ira that wouldn’t likely be bothered by the mobsters, and the only person she could think of was her boss. «Leave a message with Pyotr at the morgue so I can find you when this is over. Okay? Just go…go now!»
Zoya closed the connection without waiting for a response. Tears ran down her cheeks. Marcus sat silently, unsure what to do. After a minute, Zoya wiped her face with her hands and unhooked the zip-cable.
“No more calls?” Marcus said.
Zoya shook her head. “I need to check on Uncle Vasya and Oksana.”
“I can help.”
Again Zoya shook her head. “You’re not involved with this. It’s not safe. Go back to your embassy.”
Not involved? thought Marcus. How am I not involved? “I have a car. And my father has ways of helping.”
Zoya sighed. “I don’t want anyone else hurt. Just—”
There was a loud groan from the bathroom.
“Oh, Christ!” Zoya whispered.
Marcus looked at the nightstand blocking the door and knew it wouldn’t hold for long against such a big man.
“We’ve gotta go!” he cried, jumping up from the chair.
The bathroom door creaked and they heard a growled curse.
Zoya picked up the gun and held it out to Marcus. “Shoot him in the leg or something.”
“Are you crazy?” he said. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“You’re supposed to be the man, aren’t you!” Zoya jammed a hand into her pocket and fished out the card.
The bathroom door crashed open, the nightstand tumbling across the entrance hall. The large man stumbled out of the bathroom, a hand held to the back of his head.
«Father, what do I do?» Marcus said, sending a snapshot of the scene to his father. He felt his heart might burst at any moment.
«I don’t know, Son.» Hearing this was somehow nearly as frightening to Marcus as the sight of the angry gangster. His father always had answers.
The big man saw Marcus and Zoya and grinned like a shark Marcus had seen in a cartoon sim once. He took a step toward them and stopped. “You point that at me, little girl, you better know how to use it.”
Now Marcus noticed that Zoya was standing calmly, feet spread apart, gun held in both hands and pointed steadily at the gangster.
“That’s my gun,” the man said and held out a hand. “Give it here.”
Other than a slight flaring of the nostrils, Zoya didn’t move or make a sound.
“That’s enough!” said the gangster. “This isn’t a playground.”
He began walking across the room toward Zoya.
The shot rang from the concrete walls, and Marcus clapped his hands to his suddenly ringing ears. The gangster had halted, and Marcus was horrified to see a hole where his left eye had been. The man swayed as blood began flowing down his face and pattering onto the carpet.
A second shot rang out. The man’s other eye disappeared and he crumpled to the floor. The wall behind him was covered with a fine spray of dark red.
Hands still clamped to his painful ears, Marcus tore his eyes away from the dead man and looked at Zoya. She still hadn’t moved from her shooting stance, and her mouth was a grim line.
«Marcus, get out of there now!» yelled his father.
Marcus nodded and placed a hand lightly on Zoya’s shoulder. “Come on. We must go.” He could barely hear his own voice through the ringing in his ears.
Zoya gave the faintest of nods and kept the gun out as they skirted the corpse and headed out the door.
Moscow
Sunday, June 8, 2138
5:01 p.m. MSK
Tavik gripped the manual override wheel of his classic 2110 firemist green Cadillac, his knuckles white on the faux-leather grip. He liked being in control, which is why he always pretended to be driving despite the autodriver actually running things.
Everything felt out of control now.
There was always an undercurrent of subservience in his life, primarily to his boss Lev Abramovich Romanishin, the gangster who controlled nearly half of Moscow, but also to the rest of Lev’s favored underlings, of which Big Bunny was one.
Fucking Bunny.
Tavik checked the rearview mirror and saw Bunny’s fat face with its bulging eyes and the tiny, smarmy smile that never seemed to vanish no matter what the situation. Tavik gritted his teeth and slammed a palm into the steering wheel. Should have stood up to Lev on this one, refused to take Bunny along.
One of Tavik’s gang had called in sick yesterday and another was on vacation in Sochi. When Lev’s twin brother Viktor had told Tavik about Georgy’s treachery and Tavik had informed him he was two men short, Viktor had foisted Bunny on him. Anyone else and Tavik would have refused, but Viktor was Lev’s enforcer for a reason—the look in his eyes alone made you feel like your days on this Earth were measured in very small increments. And his eyes were the kindest part of him.
Goddamned motherfucking Bunny.
Everyone knew Bunny was a psychopathic bastard. Tavik prided himself on being relatively sociopathic himself, but he felt like the sanest man in Russia compared to Bunny.
Everything would be over and done if not for Bunny. We’d have the chips, Lev would be able to tell that general to go fuck himself, and I might get considered for another promotion sometime next year.
It had all seemed fine in Georgy’s kitchen. They’d been sipping tea with Mama Drozdova, waiting for Zoya to show up with the chips. No one, not even the stupidest of his men, should have needed to be told that the scrawny old lady was insurance to keep Zoya from doing anything dumb. Then Zoya had called. What possessed Bunny to break the old lady’s neck? What was running through that chicken brain of his?
The air car slowed and descended toward a crumbling apartment building, one of a long row of similar drab buildings along Proletarskiy Prospekt. Tavik took two deep breaths as the car settled into an empty parking space near the building entrance. There were three other cars in the lot, and only one of those looked like it might actually be able to fly. He took some more breaths as he waited for his two men and B
unny to clamber out of the car. Don’t be stupid, Tavik; you can’t touch the bastard.
He climbed out to join his men near the entrance. The steel door was too warped to close, so there was no need for a code. Bunny reached to swing the door open and Tavik imagined slamming the huge man’s face into the steel over and over again. He wanted to wipe that fucked up smile off forever. There were few men that could make Tavik hesitate—Viktor, naturally, and Big Bunny. The man was a monster, nearly half a meter taller than Tavik and twice as broad in the shoulders. Even if Tavik could manage to shove him up against the metal door, he wasn’t certain his own men would back him up. Bunny was Lev’s man, and touching one of Lev’s men was a good way to commit suicide.
Tavik placed a hand on Bunny’s bulky shoulder and felt the iron sinews beneath the fabric of the gray solar coat. Bunny turned to Tavik, his thick lips stretching his smirk a little further than usual, his pig eyes boring into Tavik’s with a gleam that almost resembled intelligence.
Tavik held the gaze as long as he could but finally looked away. He pointed at the doorway. “Bunny, as far as I know that’s Zoya’s only remaining relative in there. We need him as leverage. You know what leverage means?” Nothing changed in Bunny’s eyes. “It means we need him alive. Look, why don’t you just wait here? Guard the car. In fact, why don’t all three of you wait here? I can do this myself.”
Then he realized his anger at Bunny was making him careless. He turned back to his men and pointed at the skinny one in the blue track suit. “Boris, find the Web link for this building and install a trace in case she calls. Vugar, take my car and park it somewhere she won’t see it. Don’t do anything if you see her except give me a call.”
The two men nodded. Tavik turned back to the entrance, squeezed past Bunny, and entered the foyer. The tiles were grimy and the air reeked of vomit and urine and stale alcohol. A shadow blocked out the sunlight and Tavik knew that Bunny had followed him inside.
Fuck your mother you fucking psycho bastard.
Tavik turned to Bunny and shrugged his shoulders. “There’s nothing dangerous about Uncle Vasya. Wait outside…please!”
He turned and headed for the stairwell. At least Uncle Vasya lived on just the second floor. A crunch of broken tile told Tavik that Bunny was still following. Tavik sighed and decided there was little he could do other than try to keep Zoya’s uncle alive as long as possible. He wondered who else Zoya might turn to for help. There was Oksana, her best friend from school, and he seemed to recall there was another friend—Irina perhaps?—but he didn’t know enough about her to do anything. He’d sent Nikolai to Oksana’s apartment to try to capture Zoya if she headed that way. If Zoya headed somewhere else, well…she’d be worried about Uncle Vasya and Oksana, so she’d have to turn up eventually.