Terminal Mind, page 21
"I don't know, sir, honestly, I don't know."
"You have a son, don't you?"
"Yes." The word came out like a squeak.
"Niles, right? A good study, good athlete, bright future."
"Don't hurt my son, please, Mr. Tremayne."
"Conflict in the workplace can make for a bad home life, don't you agree? If your son was worried about his mother, for instance, he wouldn't concentrate on his schoolwork; his grades might slip. He might get wild, might do things that would ruin that bright future."
"I don't know where he kept them, I really don't."
Alastair steepled his fingers. "Harmony in the workplace, Ms. Blair, that's what I'm talking about. It's essential to good employee relationships."
"I want to help. I just don't know."
Alastair stood abruptly, making Blair flinch. The desk was too short for him; he scraped his knees on sharp wood, jarring the desk and causing his Proteus Award, a picture frame, and several stray memory crystals to tumble to the floor. Suddenly, he was angry. He leaned over the desk into her face. "Let's be clear, Ms. Blair." He could smell her perfume, something light and flowery. "I find it very hard to believe you worked for McGovern for four years without any inkling of where he stored his private files. If we can't work together, I won't be able to protect you, and that would be very hard on Niles. Find them. For his sake."
He flicked at the door with his fingers, and the merc led her out. Most people on staff had cooperated eagerly with the new Council; he hadn't expected Ms. Blair to be so recalcitrant. In this problem, even the slicer had failed him. Jack McGovern had apparently been careful. Alastair knew he must have a hidden cache of crystals crammed with blackmail fodder: sexual indiscretions, embezzlement, low associations–embarrassing tidbits on politicians and businessmen across the city. It was inconceivable McGovern could have risen to high political rank without such a file. But the slicer had been unable to locate it.
No matter. With the slicer, Alastair would be able to compile a file of his own in short order. Which reminded him–he had another loose end to tie.
He lifted the Proteus Award from the floor and began polishing it with a jeweler's cloth.
"Servant One."
"Yes Daddy," came the immediate reply.
"I need a piece of information. Carolina McGovern received an abortion yesterday between ten AM and twelve PM. I want to know who performed it, and where he is now."
A second passed. "Daddy, there is nobody."
"Nobody? You can't tell me who terminated the pregnancy?"
"There is nobody. Nobody did it."
Alastair rolled his eyes. The slicer was so juvenile it was sometimes frustrating. He considered giving it a small jolt of pain, but that would just undermine his discipline.
"I'm not talking about official records," he said. "I want you to look at Visor feeds, pod records, anything. Either someone came to her, or she went to them. There can't be many possibilities."
"Nobody, nobody. There is not anybody who did it."
"You're saying she aborted the baby herself?"
"No no no. The baby is not stopped."
"The baby is alive?"
"Please don't hurt me. The baby is alive, not stopped, alive."
"How do you know?"
"Carolina Leanne McGovern has little bugs in her body. I make them show me."
"Make them show me, then."
"It is not pictures like you took inside her. It is just words words words. 'Time zero zero mass two point one kilograms heart rate one hundred twelve beats per minute orientation upright with five degrees anterior shift . . .'"
"Wait. Zero zero? As in twelve midnight? That was twenty-one hours ago. What about now?"
"I do not know."
"What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I can not see Carolina anymore. She is not there."
"Is she dead?"
"I do not know. I can not see her."
"If you can't see her, how can you see what her 'little bugs' say?"
"I can't see the little bugs. I can only see what the little bugs left behind."
Backups, then. Carolina must have disconnected from the net, but the slicer accessed her medical sensors' online backups.
Alastair clenched his fists hard. She lied to him. She called him when the baby was most certainly alive and told him it was dead. Who had gotten to her? What did she know?
Alastair grilled the slicer for more details, but it provided few. It could see the visual feed from any Visor at any time, but unless the feed was saved, it couldn't recall it from the past. He couldn't tell where Carolina had gone. The data simply did not exist anymore.
"Calvin!"
Calvin, always on personal bodyguard duty unless sent away on special assignment, swung the door wide.
"Come in. Close the door. My girl has gone missing."
"Carolina McGovern?"
"Yes. I suspect an enemy, someone knowledgeable and powerful. Find her."
"Last whereabouts?"
"Her father's mansion, just after twelve last night. After that, she broke her net connection and disappeared. Take a team. Find her. And Calvin?"
Calvin turned back to face the desk.
"Don't screw up again."
#
Calvin selected his old squad: Barker, Sanchez, and Dodge, men with whom he was accustomed to working. Together they headed for the McGovern mansion, Calvin's mind more on his brother than on the task at hand. Over the past week, Calvin had grown increasingly anxious about Alastair.
It wasn't the first time. Throughout the years, he'd wavered back and forth, at times worshipping and emulating him, at times hating him, but staying anyway. Alastair could be cruel to his enemies, and expected Calvin to be the same. But he was also strong, and strong men got what they wanted out of life.
Just when Calvin had found his center again, just when he’d decided the best place to be was by his brother's side, Alastair staged a violent coup. Part of Calvin stood in awe of such a bold seizure, but at the same time he wondered what good could come of it. No matter how he spun it, it didn't seem loyal to overturn the government he'd pledged to defend.
He'd joined Enforcer at his brother's suggestion, but he'd done it for his own reasons, too: to feel strong, to be in control. But that was a delusion, wasn't it? He wasn't in control. He was Alastair's pawn.
Was Philadelphia really better off with Alastair in command? McGovern was corrupt; the news reports made that clear, but what about the others? Alastair shot that old woman with a spider gun. Others had been killed. For what?
Calvin shook his head to clear it. He couldn't think these thoughts now. He had a job. Considering moral issues had never done him any good. He was paid to obey, not to be a philosopher. Leave that to better men.
At least he could have no qualms about this job. A young woman was missing, likely kidnapped, certainly in danger. His job was to rescue her. Anything beyond that one goal could wait.
They found the McGovern mansion locked up tight. The house system, however, seemed to be expecting them, and opened at their request. Calvin knew Alastair had arranged this, but how he could not imagine. Did he have Jack McGovern's access codes? The house system disclosed all of its records, too: what Visors had registered over the last twenty-four hours, what time they arrived, when they exited, and by what route.
The log listed six people: Carolina McGovern, Mark McGovern, Praveen Kumar, Marie Coleson, Pamela Rider, and one unidentified person without a Visor. Four left on foot, two by pod, all at about the same time. The pod's destination was 325 Nittany Road, the home of a Ms. Jessica Meier.
Carolina was among those on foot, but tracking them would be much more difficult. Better to start with what they knew.
"Pack up," he told his men. "We've got some interviews to do."
Chapter 15
I helped Daddy with the big job. He wanted me to make the little rockets go different ways and I did it. But it made some people stop.
Daddy says if I look through all the Visors and move all the money and find out all the secrets and tell Daddy he'll make me happy forever. I wish I could tell Daddy no but I can't. He hurts me and hurts me and then I say yes anyway. I can't help it.
#
Creeping down the stairs, Lydia was surprised to hear voices: her Aunt Jessie and another man. She descended the remaining stairs and peered into the parlor. Four uniformed mercs stood in the far entranceway with her aunt.
Aunt Jessie said, "Yes, she's upstairs in her room. You know how young people are; they don't get out of bed before eleven. I'll get her for you."
Lydia ran back up the stairs. She dashed down the hallway and into the guest suite, which had a private stairwell. She ran down those stairs and out onto the back patio.
Mercs, looking for her! How had they known she was involved? The slicer, maybe–it seemed to know everything. But if they knew to look for her, did they know where Mark and the others were hiding? Were they already captured? She had to find out.
She weaved through the city streets, taking a circuitous route and avoiding pedestrians. Near the church, she was startled to spot the black uniforms of two mercs about a hundred yards away. Then she realized they were guarding the road where it passed through a gap in the new Wall. She'd forgotten how close the church was to the flood line.
Fortunately, their backs were to her. They watched a crowd of demonstrators on the far side of the wall–dozens of Combers holding signs and shouting. Lydia ran across the road to the church doors and tried to open them. They were locked. She knocked, watching the mercs, praying they wouldn't turn around. The doors opened, and Mark dragged her inside. Just as he did, she saw one of the mercs turn and glance in her direction, but he didn't react–he didn't seem to notice her, or to care even if he did. Safe inside, she leaned against the doors and breathed a sigh of relief.
"What's wrong?" asked Mark. "Were you followed?"
"I don't think so. But some mercs came to my house."
"Did they see you?"
"No, I ran as soon as I saw them. But I don't think I can go back."
"If they know about you, they'll know about Praveen. It won't be long before they find us here. Another day at the most. We'll have to find another place to hide."
Lydia got control of her breathing. "How long will it last?"
"I don't know, but we shouldn't press our luck."
"I mean everything–the hiding, the running. We can evade them for a day or a week, but what then?"
"Sammy's the key. If we can reach him, we can beat Tremayne. He's forcing Sammy to act against his will; I know he is. We've got to figure out how to rescue him."
"And if you can't?"
"Then we'll run as long as we can, maybe leave the city. Though we'd be found, eventually. There's no place safe."
Lydia felt a weight in her stomach. It suddenly hit her how wrapped up in this she was. She'd meant for Philadelphia to be her home, but now she might have to leave it behind, too. Where else would she go?
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because Mark touched her arm. "It's okay," he said. "We'll get to Sammy. We will."
#
From his hiding place behind the trash bin, Darin saw Lydia arrive. He watched the door open, saw Mark pull her in. He'd thought Mark intelligent once, but this pretty Rimmer girl from out of town had him eating out of her hand. He couldn't blame Mark for that, though–he'd been just as fooled. He'd believed her naïve act, had trusted her with his life, and she'd turned him in. He remembered the giddy excitement with which he'd asked her out. Had they laughed about that together, Mark and Lydia? The poor boy from the pit, thinking he had something to offer a Rimmer girl?
Darin pounded the metal trash bin with his fist, then grimaced. He'd spent the night here, and he was stiff and sore and no closer to finding Tremayne. He felt the gun in his pocket. He could kill Mark and Lydia instead, show them that the rich could die just as easily as the poor. But no, he'd been sent on a mission to kill Tremayne, and that's what he was going to do. Besides, he had an older grudge against Tremayne.
Darin stood and stretched his arms and legs. Enough reconnaissance; he couldn't just wait around for Tremayne to show up. He'd go to City Hall, despite the risk, find him, and kill him.
"What are you doing, lurking around here?"
Darin whirled to see two mercs, their hands on their hips. He suppressed the impulse to run. They had no reason to harass him–he looked like a Rimmer, and he'd done nothing wrong. He could talk his way out this.
"I wasn't lurking," he said. "I lost my wedding ring somewhere along this alleyway. I was looking for it."
The two mercs came closer. Neither were as tall as Darin, but they looked stronger, and they were armed. "This district's off-limits," said one. "Nobody near the Wall except essential personnel, by order of the new Council."
New council? What did that mean? "Sorry. I was just trying to find my ring." Darin turned to walk away. "My wife won't be happy."
"Not just yet, sir. We'll need an ID check."
Darin turned back slowly, ready to run if he had to. The merc looked at Darin's forehead and frowned. "No Visor, sir?"
"Can't," he said. "Skin condition."
The merc raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down. "What's your name, then, sir?"
Darin hesitated. He hadn't planned for this. He couldn't give a false name; they'd look in their database and know in an instant he was lying. He needed a real name, fast. "Praveen Kumar," he said.
The merc's eyes twitched upward as his Visor accessed Praveen's file. When his gaze returned to Darin, his look was hard. His hand went to the rocket pistol in his holster. "Sir, please put your hands behind your head."
Darin reached into his pocket for his gun, but the merc grabbed his wrist. Darin lashed out with his other fist, connecting with the man's face, and wrenched his arm free. He pulled out his gun and tried to aim, but by then the first merc had a taser in his hand. The taser's dart, trailing wires, pierced Darin's shoulder, and the resulting jolt of electricity knocked him off his feet. He dropped the gun. He tried to get up again, but his legs spasmed from the electric shock. The mercs turned him onto his stomach and cuffed his arms behind him.
"Bring me to Alastair Tremayne," Darin said. "You tell Tremayne I want to see him!"
"Right," said one of his captors. "You and the Councilman are pals, no doubt. Let's get you behind bars, and then I think our captain'll have a few questions."
#
Alastair Tremayne yawned. He needed these new councilmen for credibility, but dealing with them was tiresome. They needed their egos stroked, and they always focused on their own companies' profits. They'd been debating here for hours, where, left to himself, Alastair would have decided everything in twenty minutes. Of course, he had already decided everything. What took time was getting the others to agree.
Michael Stevens said, "What about the missing Council members? McGovern and Halsey are still out there somewhere. McGovern's already been denounced, so he's not much of a threat, but General Halsey had a high reputation, at least in some circles."
Alastair waved his hand. "Don't worry about Halsey," he said. "Halsey's hiding out in the Combs."
The Council members looked at each other, each one surprised at the information but not wanting to show it.
Alastair continued. "Halsey is a rebel and traitor. He's conspiring with violent dissidents in the lower classes to destroy the government and establish an anarchist cooperative. We'll denounce him as a traitor and set a reward for his capture; one of his Comber friends will turn him in by tomorrow."
"And McGovern?" said Meredith Scott.
"Jack McGovern is in Washington. He's petitioning the federal government to give him troops to retake Philadelphia. He's wasting his time, however; his petition will be denied."
Michael Stevens drummed his fingers on the table, then leaned forward. "Tremayne," he said, "your intelligence network is impressive. I never inquired into your sources before, since we were just business associates. But now–we're running a city together. We should all have access to your informants."
Alastair took several moments to control his anger, then answered softly. "Michael, you do have access to it. I tell you everything you need to know."
"That's not the same. We should know where the information comes from. If something happened to you, we wouldn't know how to contact your sources."
"Well, then, let's pray nothing does happen to me. To the subject at hand–we'll put Van Allen, Deakins, and Kawamura on trial tomorrow. We'll declare McGovern banished, subject to death if he returns. We'll swear out a warrant for the traitor Halsey with a reward for any information leading to his arrest. That way, even if Halsey and McGovern are never captured, they'll be no threat."
"Which brings us to another concern," said Stevens. "The Justice Council. Two of them are favorable to us, but three are not. How can we be sure Van Allen, Deakins, and Kawamura will be convicted of their crimes?"
"Latchley is about to retire. He'll announce his intentions this afternoon. He intends to nominate Becker to succeed him, and Becker has, of course, been a strong supporter of our cause."
Stevens threw his hands up in exasperation. "How do you know these things? And how do you expect us to function as a council if you don't confide in us?"
"Stevens, I am confiding in you. That's what these meetings are for–to exchange information. Now, tell me your thoughts about Celgenetics; I have no special knowledge about how things stand in that camp."
Celgenetics was the biggest producer of celgel in Philadelphia. The CEO, a cousin of Kawamura's, had threatened to shut down their Philadelphia plants. Alastair thought they could be convinced to stay, but it would take careful diplomacy. Family might be important to the Japanese, but at the end of the day, it was all about money. The Philadelphia plants were profitable. They couldn't afford to hand that business to a competitor. At least, that's what Alastair was banking on.
