“Who needs a plan?” Curtik threw out his hands, accidentally swatting the technician’s breast. “Oops.” He thought about apologizing but couldn’t remember the technician’s name. Zora glanced at Curtik as if grasping his dilemma. She said, “He’s sorry, Bonnie.”
Bonnie, that’s right. Curtik nodded slightly to thank Zora and said, “Sorry, Bonster.”
Jefferson shook his head. “Focus, people. I’ve spoken with Major Somers of Britain’s Combined Intelligence Service. They’re the ones who spotted the vid of Brosk entering Holland Park. He said they’ve examined all the CCTV feeds from the area at around that time, but somebody had hacked into the system and there’s no further footage of Brosk. And we won’t even be able to use a trace scanner to pick up his signature because it’s been too long since Brosk left and too many other people have been through that area.”
“We’ll think of something,” Curtik said. “Won’t we, Zora? Oh, before I forget, Neddy, can I use a particle beam cannon?”
“The Brits won’t let us bring in heavy weaponry. Besides, we’re not trying to blow up the neighborhood. This is a rescue operation and surgical strike. Think precision.”
“Precision. Got it.” Curtik quick-drew his plas-glass knife from its hidden flap in his combat fatigues, wincing at the sudden movement. “Okay, that’s enough of that. I’ll take a pain pad now,” he said as he slid the knife back inside the flap.
Bonnie said, “You’re done.”
She held up a mirror and Curtik studied himself in it. The man staring back at him looked familiar and yet bizarrely different. Curtik suddenly felt as though he’d become his father. The wrinkles and pain lines around the eyes looked overly done. Did his old man really look that bad, that ancient? He turned to Zora, who stood immobile, staring at him.
Although she’d yet to have a new implant installed, she again read his mind. “Except for the eyes,” she said, “your face looks exactly like his.”
“Feels weird,” Curtik said.
“It’ll fool them,” Jefferson said as he opened a hypo-pad and pressed it against the back of Curtik’s hand. “Hell, if I didn’t know who you were, I’d believe you were him.”
“Thanks, Bonster,” Curtik said as he took the mirror from her. She departed toward the back of the plane and he studied his reflection. As the pain receded, the muscles of his neo-skin face relaxed, making some of the lines vanish. He opened his mouth wide, then frowned and finally smiled. The face that looked back at him was so serious, so sad—even with the smile. Good God, old man, can’t you just be happy for a minute?
“Don’t dwell on it,” Zora said. “You’re still you.”
“Am I?”
“Of course. You’ll never be him.”
“I know you mean it as an insult, but thanks.”
Jefferson pressed an icon on his PlusPhone and the wall in front of Curtik became a screen.
A British news feed showed vids from Mexico City, Tokyo, Kolkata and Rome, which had disproportionate numbers of the dead and dying. New York City was rapidly catching up, as was Rio de Janeiro. Jakarta looked like a war zone, bodies littering the streets, the crews employed to pick up the corpses no longer doing their job. The news anchor speculated that it was probably a combination of the enormity of the task and the fact that there were few able workers left to perform it.
In somber tones, the anchor discussed the urgency and the seeming impossibility of finding a cure in time to prevent the disease from spreading to every village, hamlet and tiny township across the globe.
The anchor now turned to a doctor, who explained for those listeners who hadn’t gotten it the previous 734 times, that viruses consist merely of DNA or RNA surrounded by a protein shell and that when they’re not in contact with a host cell, they remain dormant—nothing more than static organic particles. Only when they attach themselves to cells do they become active. And because the Susquehanna Virus apparently could stay dormant for years in harsh conditions, scientists might never know if it had been completely eliminated. Adding to that complication was the fact that over forty variations had been identified to date.
The wall-screen then shifted to New York City, where bands of young men roamed across Times Square, crowbars and other crude weapons in their hands. They broke into stores, smashing windows and lighting fires. Riot police moved in to disperse them, a squad of Elite Ops troopers standing by in case they failed. The anchor noted that similar scenes were playing out around the world, not just in America, as frustrated citizens fought for food and medicine that didn’t yet exist. Some of these anarchists were well organized, staying ahead of efforts to track them electronically.
Lendra’s face replaced the image on the wall-screen. She said, “I’ve spoken with Major Somers of the CIS. He’ll meet you upon landing. They’ve agreed to allow you to accompany them to Holland Park since they feel it’s likely the cell is still in the area. The best place to hide is in the bustle of the city, so the enemy will still be around.”
“So they agree it’s a trap?” Zora asked.
Lendra nodded. “It’s pretty clear they want Jeremiah and are unlikely to show themselves unless he appears. Of course they insist on taking the lead, so you’ll be permitted to accompany them on the condition that when the action starts, you let them take over.”
“Screw that,” Curtik said. He started to play an air-drum solo to the beat of Death to the Mob, the Crystal Skull Bangers’ best song, then realized he should have kept his mouth shut.
“We’ll behave,” Zora said.
“Curtik’s right,” Lendra said.
“Whoa, I am?”
“We do whatever it takes. If we piss off the Brits, we’ll apologize after the fact. I want that cell taken, and I want Brosk rescued if at all possible. Good luck.”
She signed off.
As the plane descended beneath the low cloud deck and into the light rain, Curtik could make out the craggy Scottish fingers extending into the Atlantic Ocean, looking like a fungus-covered hand floating on the surface, the rest of the corpse submerged under water.
“Next stop, merry old England,” he said.
“Fifteen minutes,” Zora said, glancing at the arrival info on the monitor above the cabin door.
Jefferson’s PlusPhone buzzed. He looked at it and said, “Message from Major Somers. He’s waiting at the airport. Expects us to cooperate fully.”
As they flew over the hilly countryside, Glasgow appeared, a sprawling city growing out of the greenery, bisected by a wide river. Continuing along, Jefferson pointed out Manchester, then Birmingham and finally London. Curtik perused the massive city the Crystal Skull Bangers called home: Tower Bridge, the London Eye and the winding river Thames, where a destroyer was docked and several smaller naval vessels cruised.
“Looks like they’re ready for war,” Zora said.
“This is war,” Jefferson replied.
“What are we going to do about Major Somers?”
Jefferson shrugged. “Play along. Pump him for information. Even with the economic crises the Brits have faced in the past few years, they’ve still got decent anti-terrorist operations.”
“I almost blew up this place last year,” Curtik said. “That would have been a shame.”
“Take your seats and fasten your seatbelts,” the pilot announced. “We’ll be on the ground in a few minutes.”
As Jefferson and Zora strapped themselves in, Curtik continued to study his reflection. It looked odd: his eyes trapped in his father’s face. Was this what he would look like when he got old? Would he become his father? He sure as hell hoped not.
He almost didn’t notice when the plane touched down. It taxied to a small hangar and by the time Jefferson and Zora had gotten their carry-ons and returned to Curtik’s seat, the door opened and a thin Indian man of middle age entered. He wore a gray mustache under black hair, his eyes w
ere a disconcerting blue.
“Major Somers of Britain’s Combined Intelligence Service,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Ned. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“A pleasure,” Jefferson said. He introduced Zora and Curtik. Somers glanced at Zora with something like contempt before staring at Curtik’s Jeremiah mask.
“Too bad the real Jeremiah couldn’t come,” he said.
Curtik grinned. “I’m way prettier and way more lethal.”
“Yes, you’re quite good at violence,” Somers said. “I saw your handiwork at Stratford-upon-Avon.”
“That’s in the past,” Jefferson said. “What can you tell us so far?”
“I was going to ask you the same question, but very well. I’ll start. First of all, my government is furious that you’ve withheld information about this Sally cell. Granted, we knew about it. And although the information Ms. Riley provided gave us nothing new, common courtesy dictated that you inform us of everything you found.”
“Bureaucrats,” Jefferson said, shaking his head. “If it’s any consolation, the three of us didn’t learn about this cell until we boarded the plane.”
Curtik managed not to laugh.
Major Somers smiled as if acknowledging how well Jefferson lied. “At any rate, your man will enter the park as bait.” He made the word “man” sound like an obscenity. “My people will be stationed close by, ready to move in. The cell can’t be more than five minutes away.”
“As long as your people are out of sight,” Jefferson said. “Any hint that Curtik has backup and the Sally wackos are liable to stay away.”
“Agreed. Don’t worry. I’ve been in the field. I know what I’m doing.”
“I’m curious,” Jefferson said. “CIS is one of the best intelligence agencies in the world. How come you don’t know exactly where they are?”
“These bloody budget cuts,” Major Somers said, his fists tightening at his sides. “The Metropolitan police get all the funding now. Riot prevention and all that. We’re close. We’d likely find them in the next couple of days now that we’ve seen the vid of Brosk and the woman.”
“I’m sure you would,” Jefferson replied. “But you may as well take advantage of this opportunity. Zora and I will enter the park to provide immediate backup. I’ll be wearing a hat and a filtration mask. No way they’ll recognize me.”
“I assume if I don’t agree to that, you won’t allow this man to act as bait.” He glared at Curtik for a moment.
Jefferson nodded, ignoring the major’s hostility. “You’ve been in the field. You know the drill. Foreign country—not allowed to go in alone.”
“Of course.” Major Somers gestured for them to precede him off the plane. “Shall we go? We’ll handle customs on the way there, and you can fill me in on what you know, or what you’re allowed to tell me, anyway.”
Curtik bounded forward, barely noticing the discomfort in his joints. Finally some action!
Chapter 14
Sally23 waited beside Trogan Brosk, looking out the darkened windows to the sidewalk, where pedestrians hurried home from work, filtration masks on almost every face. Though the masks were largely ineffective against the virus, she supposed they provided some measure of comfort. Low gray clouds drizzled misty, ash-filled rain that dirtied sidewalks and streets, bringing a November feel to the June air. The screens on the wall captured news reports of Susquehanna Virus deaths, updating every few minutes with increasing numbers of victims.
Sally2 gave instructions to Andre and his security team—Jarrod, Ron, Marcus, Sinda and Paulo. The two newest recruits, David and Heather, had already gone on ahead, pleased to have a starring role in this operation. Their mission: approach Jones. Did they know, beneath their conditioning, that Sally2 expected them to die? Sally 23 had brought them into the fold back when she still believed in the cause. Now they would die because of her.
Marcus and Sinda stood close together. Jarrod, Ron and Paulo, hard cases with crew cuts and tattoos, caressed their three-bladed knives—plas-glass weapons that would be necessary if Jones was shielded against Las-weapons—as they received their final orders. Andre, as always, wore a look of intense concentration, brows furrowed on his chocolate face.
Almost everybody else had already left. Only the four Wally technicians remained behind: Wallys 2, 3, 5 and 6. Wally2, tall and lanky with curly brown hair, carried a flexible tablet linked to Brosk, able to monitor and, if necessary, control Brosk’s movements. The other three Wallys, all short and slim Indians, carried Las-pistols. They looked uncomfortable, as if they only wished to dispense death from a distance, via discreet methods, perhaps from a joystick. Had they been conditioned too or did they just want to die? Or maybe they thought they’d survive.
Finally Sally2 finished giving instructions. She reached over and touched Andre’s arm, and he smiled at her briefly before leading his team out the door. Marcus and Sinda took up positions at the rear, waving to Sally23 as they marched out; she waved back, wondering if she’d ever see them again. Brosk had repeatedly told her Jones would defeat Sally2’s security team and he spoke with such quiet confidence it was hard not to believe him.
“I just got word,” Sally2 said as she returned to the small group, “that Jones’ plane landed an hour ago. He’ll be here shortly.”
Sally23 leaned into Brosk. He hugged her reassuringly as he spoke to Sally2: “I’m glad you’re prepared to die because you’re about to.”
Sally2 looked from Brosk to Sally23, arching an eyebrow and causing Sally23 to pull away from Brosk’s embrace. “I’ve considered that possibility,” Sally2 said. “That’s why we’re relocating. We’ll only be using this building to house Jones.”
Then Sally2 nodded to Wally6, who changed the picture on the two large screens. They showed Holland Park in the rain, the famous Orangery, and the well-lit sculptures and walking trails. David and Heather were just now reaching the Orangery. They disappeared inside the building to stay dry, waiting for Sally2’s signal.
***
Curtik walked stiffly along the trails of Holland Park, pretending his joints ached. Off to his left he spotted two young couples: one approaching, the other moving away. Neither looked like a threat. Neither wore protective masks. Curtik kept his hands in his pockets, the Las-pistol grips comforting as he shuffled ahead. He resisted the impulse to reach up and feel his neo-skin face. The proximity sensor in his implant showed only seven people in the immediate area—and he knew Zora and Jefferson were the other two—but the sensor displayed an odd feedback pulse.
See anything? he sent via his implant.
“Only the people you see,” Zora whispered, keeping her voice low in case the enemy had sensitive microphones listening in. Since she no longer had her implant, she was using a conventional ear bud and a tiny microphone attached to the tip of her nose, both set to his implant’s frequency. “But we’re getting strange energy dispersal readings on our scanners, so they’re around here somewhere. Probably using scatterers. You might want to activate your shield.”
No, Curtik sent. I want them confident.
“My people are all in place,” Major Somers said from his mobile unit. “They can be here in three minutes.”
“Excellent,” Jefferson answered. “Zora and I are entering the park now.”
Curtik spotted them—an old black couple tottering along, their canes clicking on the path. The sculpture garden, lit with chem-lights, gave a warm orange glow to the dusk. A topiary lion looked ready to charge. Curtik stopped before it, pretending to examine it while he studied the two young couples on the path. One vanished behind a cluster of trees. The other approached. They giggled as their foreheads touched and they stared into each other’s eyes. The man had his right arm around the woman’s back, his hand in her right pocket. Curtik almost envied them. They looked happy, as if unaware of the deadly virus being manufactured nearby.
“C
areful,” Zora whispered. “Stay alert.”
Yeah, yeah, Curtik sent. He stood at the side of the path, his body tensing, preparing to lash out. He focused on his Las-pistol grips, double-checked the power settings with his thumbs, making certain they were set on low.
The couple almost bumped into him, stopping at the last moment.
“I beg your pardon,” the young man said. “I didn’t see you.”
He looked only a little older than Curtik, not particularly handsome, with dark hair and a medium build, and he spoke accented English that sounded eastern European. The young woman was slightly overweight, or perhaps that was just the bulkiness of her jacket, and her plump face displayed a mole on the chin and heavy eyebrows. But she had a shy smile that Curtik found attractive.
“It’s okay,” Curtik said.
“Say, could you take our picture in front of the lion?” the young man asked.
“This is it,” Zora whispered into his implant.
Well, duh, Curtik sent.
“Activate your shield,” Zora whispered.
Not yet. If I do, they might run off.
“It’s too dangerous. Activate your shield.”
The young man held up his PlusPhone, waving it slightly, as if to say, “Here, use this.”
Whoever they are, they’re amateurs, Curtik sent. “Sorry,” he said to the young man.
“It’s just a picture,” the young man said. “We’re on our honeymoon. Please, mister?”
Curtik pulled his right hand out of his pocket to wave the young man off, keeping his left hand on the other Las-pistol.
“Catch,” The young man tossed the PlusPhone at Curtik and dropped to the ground. The girl flopped beside him.
Curtik put up his right hand defensively as he activated the shield with his implant. The PlusPhone exploded.
***
Brosk inhaled sharply, squeezing Sally23’s arm tightly as Jones fell to the ground. Was it going to be that easy? She’d thought Jones would have his shield engaged. Yet he hadn’t done so until the booby-trapped PlusPhone had knocked him over and possibly destroyed his hand.
The Susquehanna Virus Box Set Page 99