3 SUM (15 page)

“And I'm not looking, but you can add your name to the list if it makes you feel any better.”

I was disappointed. The testosterone fuelling my loins had convinced me I was irresistible.

“Orsin, Odam,” she said, “you can lower your weapons, at least for now.”

They stood down, relaxed but not relieved.

Queensy was removing a small capped needle from under her dress. It was on her garter belt, and all the guys had stopped work to watch.

“I'm just going to give you a little prick,” she said to me. “I'm sure you know what that feels like.”

“I'm not gay,” I repeated.

“Of course, straight guys wear dresses.”

“I've changed.”

“Sure you have. Now hold out your arm, it won't hurt.”

“Ouch.”

“So I lied.”

Was she tormenting me, teasing me? How was I supposed to react?

She dropped a spot of my blood onto a metal plate and watched the indicator. At last she said, “Don't kill him,” to her body guards, and what a body it was. I was jealous for the second time in a day.

“You really are Valiant 01,” she said.

“What was that?”

“My last present from Cygnus. It's calibrated to match your blood. Welcome to Moscow.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Then follow me. We haven't got long. I guarantee someone's following you.”

We walked out of the restaurant towards the lift, passed the amazed diners begging for an autograph. Two of her protectors escorted us to the lift. Just the two of us, but I was alone as the doors closed.

There were 0 to 9 numbers on the panel, for 35 floors. Queensy carefully pressed the code, 598236, that took us above the gambling den.

“You can look, but you won't get to touch, the code changes every 24 hours, and only the residents know the sequence.”

We glided upwards to the apartments. I had a lump in my throat, unsure how the night would unfold. I dropped a gaming chip outside the front door, onto the thick red carpet; in case she ate me alive. Raisa would come and get me after two hours, if 598236 hadn't changed. I had a thing for remembering numbers. I'd been one most of my life.

Chapter Twenty-Six

There was an awkward silence.

“A drink?” Queensy asked.

“Vodka and ice,” I replied.

“Take a look around, why don't you?”

The apartment was Renaissance, and I was smitten by the Raphael hanging on the wall.

“You know the painter?” she asked.

“Naturally.”

She didn't insult my intelligence by asking for confirmation. Men in the Femocracy tended to be artistic, creative not destructive.

“It's genuine,” she said.

I moved further along, around the corner, and in my window of opportunity in front of the window overlooking Moscow I tapped the casino's most important numbers into my mobile.

Queensy handed me my drink as I pressed ‘send' in my trouser pocket.

“So you are pleased to see me,” she said, noticing my movement.

“I did say I wasn't gay.”

“Shall I tell you why I deserted?” she said. “If you're interested?”

Her polished nails were wrapped around her glass, a little finger stroked the stem. Was this the beginning of my seduction? I hoped so.

“Of course.”

“But first, guess?” she asked me.

“Humanitarianism, altruism ...”

“Hey, don't try and impress me with your isms; I have two words much shorter: cash and real men.”

Technically that was three words, but who would argue? She was gorgeous.

“Undiagnosed men think they manipulate us but it's still the other way around, even over here.”

“And saving the planet?” I asked.

Queensy laughed. “Self-preservation. And the recording, it's revenge, pure and simple. I was underpaid and undervalued. Just look at me now.

“Here,” she handed me a disc in a cream wallet from the pages of a book on her mantelpiece. “Just make sure the Council sees it. You're the only one qualified.”

“What's on it?”

“Vespertina at dinner; drunk with her girlfriend Venelope.”

“That's all?”

“Sure, apart from discussing the planned nuclear apocalypse.”

“The alcohol talking.”

“Maybe, just that it mentions how it all goes off. There's not long left before Jimmy Jones and the boys roll the welcoming carpet all the way to London. Just for the record, he isn't that bad, loves my bread pudding. My advice to you, enjoy life, there's not much of it left.”

I placed it in my jacket pocket as the front door collapsed inwards, silent explosives, and a shot from a silencer. Queensy lay on the ground dead, an expert head wound. The assassin removed her balaclava; it was Raisa. She'd found the marker, but I'd been safe, until now.

“Thanks, Valiant, I could never have got here without you. The disc if you please.”

She held out her hand and I handed over the case.

“Let's go,” she said.

I mopped my brow on the way down, tried to look relaxed as the doors opened. Raisa was a pro, grabbing my hand and laughing in my ear as though I'd just screwed her in the lift. She did a great composed cover of the un-composed as we joined the others.

Things were moving in slow-motion again, and through the bodies I saw Olga slip a powder into one of two drinks held by Anais as she returned from the bar. I knew what was happening as she toasted her host Nikolay, sitting on his lap, his guard down.

Anais spilled her drink, grabbed the arm of Olga and demanded that her impressive dress be cleaned. I followed Raisa as we followed them, out of the front door. I guessed that Nikolay slumped in his chair, with a bodyguard checking his pulse, wouldn't be joining us any time soon.

Only outside did I notice the hold-all carried by Raisa, and it sure held it all: ten million credits from Semyon's apartment. We jumped in the back of the potato van driven by Vadim; as the police arrived, we disappeared.

There was a pile of empty sacks in the back and we made the best use of them as cushions, sliding off every time Vadim turned a corner. I wondered who was going to speak first. Raisa still had her gun, and I had seen first-hand she knew how to use it.

“You're too good for a hooker or a secretary,” said Anais, looking at Raisa. “Are you going to tell us who you really are?”

“A Femocratic agent.”

“Codewords?” asked Anais.

“Adam didn't have an extra rib,” she said slowly.

“Rank?”

“General.”

“Then we're following your orders,” said Anais.

Raisa smiled, “You always have been. Cygnus was under surveillance.”

“You killed him?” I asked.

“He was an overzealous tranny looking for promotion, actually. He got it too, straight to the front lines. Incidentally, he was killed in that bombing raid I engineered.”

“You needed me to collect the film,” I said as the rouble finally dropped.

“No one else could have done it. The prof's last message was intercepted.”

“Who are you working for?” asked Anais.

“The surgeon general, Vespertina.”

Anais laughed. “Then that evidence will never see the light of day.”

“Of course not.”

“You know?”

“That the Officers were planning a coup? Of course. It's all on here.” She tapped the DVD case. “Every traitor's name.”

Was Anais set up to escort me? Was General Rolliet the first name on the list? Were we all duped, the prof, Anais, and me, the new man? My head was spinning.

“A brilliant plan, don't you think?” said Raisa. “The Femocracy should thank you, Valiant 01, and I'm sure it would if you weren't a man.”

“Everything has been a lie,” I said.

“Look, I know it's difficult right now, but, honestly, don't blame yourself. Bottom line, you're still a guy. And as I said, I really do hate men, even the smell, it's so awful.”

She laughed; I wanted to cry. And I couldn't help but notice Raisa had her gun trained on me.

We dropped Olga off with the money, and Raisa said goodbye with a kiss. Vadim was no longer smiling, and overlooked us with a sawn off. Olga wasn't packing but would be very quickly and heading to a Black Sea port and a new life. Raisa climbed back in with us, looking pleased with herself. I could have pushed her as she locked the doors, but Vadim was looking mean and moody at the safe end of his shotgun.

“Where to now?” asked Anais.

“We're being evacuated in under an hour. Vadim's driving to our rendezvous,” said Raisa.

“I'm not going,” said Valiant.

“How sweet,” said Raisa, aiming right the gun right at my head.

“Don't look disappointed,” said Raisa, “it's breaking my heart.”

“How'd you find us?” I asked.

“I knew you'd be hungry, I was checking every food mall and restaurant in town, and then you both entered the burger bar like a pair of lovebirds. After that it was easy. I told the police to check your hotel and stayed one street ahead. The punter was in on it too, said he loved me. Sometimes love kills, eh?”

“And Vadim's not your brother.”

“That's right, he's a traitor to the Undiagnosed, and paid handsomely. Speaking of handsome, can't wait to see you back in a dress, Valiant.”

“Anais?” I pleaded. Maybe she would plead for my new life.

“Don't be stupid, Colonel, you'll be returning a hero,” said Raisa.

“And the court martial?”

“Rolliet was getting rid of those she couldn't trust. Your name was on her list. Don't worry, Colonel, Vespertina's waiting to exonerate and reward you.”

“But does Valiant have to come back with us?”

“Sorry, Colonel, orders are orders.”

I put my head in my hands.

“OK, let's do it your way Raisa,” said Anais.

“Fatale Eve, if you please.”

Anais' eyes opened wide. “The Fatale Eve?”

“That's me.”

“Then it's an honour to serve with you, almost.”

“You can thank me when we're airborne.”

The van pulled over besides a hill, and Fatale checked her watch but not her gun. I grabbed it.

“I know how to use it,” I said, pointing the barrel at Fatale.

“Should have kept you medicated,” she said.

“Just let me go,” I begged.

“You're breaking my heart,” said Fatale.

“We have to go,” said Vadim as headlights could be seen driving over the next ridge. “Undiagnosed troops.”

“Then go,” said Fatale.

Vadim looked at me with pity, sorrow in his eyes.

“I got no problem with you, Vadim; if that's your name.”

The traitor got behind the wheel and sped off.

Fatale pulled a pistol, and so did Anais, pointing at one another.

“I can't let Vespertina get that recording,” said Anais.

“Mexican standoff,” said Fatale.

I wasn't sure where to aim. Anais stood between me and Fatale.

It was silent but I could see the moonlit shadow of the chopper blades whirling from above.

Anais pushed Fatale away, who fired a shot. I ran to her as she crumpled to the ground, bleeding.

Fatale began to climb the first rope ladder as the vehicles got closer.

“She'll be dead in an hour without treatment,” shouted Fatale before throwing herself into the chopper. “And if the enemy saves her, she'll wish she was dead.”

“Kill me, Valiant, and have your freedom. But please don't let the Undiagnosed take me,” said Anais as she slipped into unconsciousness.

“I can't do either. I love you,” I said.

With a tear in my eye and Anais over my shoulder, I hung onto the rope as we were winched inside the copter.

Two armed shemales were waiting for me inside, and I was instantly reminded of my past.

The doors slammed shut, and with gunfire from below, the chopper quickly rose before turning around and heading back to the Alps. A medic gave Anais an injection in the arm, pain relief and emergency care.

I looked around, my pistol was gone, and I was trapped again. I knew what was coming, but why did it always have to be in the butt? The needle withdrawn, I fell asleep next to Colonel Anais Eve.

3 Sum

Chapter Twenty-Seven

His breathing was laboured. His blue painted nails were bitten and torn. Steam from the bath covered the mirror over the old cracked porcelain basin. Professor Altruist Huxley tested the water temperature with his foot, his legs smoothly shaven. He kept in line, toed the line, but he was one of the old guard, un-medicated.

There was a new sharp razor blade on the side. He looked once more and gulped; he was a tortured genius unable to find true love amidst the gleaming spires. He couldn't go on alone, misunderstood, a straight transvestite. He moved his finger to the mirror and almost playfully, though this was no game, wrote a formula in the condensation. He tugged on the thick strands of his long permed, transplanted, hair; there was still something missing, eluding him. He couldn't square the circle on his path to mathematical, neuroscientific, immortality.

He submerged himself, not into calculus or into differentiation, but into the hot bath water that would stop his veins from closing when he sliced them open. The heat would keep the blood flowing, life ebbing away. It wasn't a coward's way out as his heart beat faster; his head spinning with fear.

He picked up the blade, shivering in spite of the warm waves swaying against the sides of the bath. He'd been drinking copious amounts of water all day, and his veins were enlarged. He cared not who found him dead, naked, such was his despair, revulsion, self-loathing. The razor pressed hard against his wrist; his hand tremored, reluctant to cut down. One last glance at the mirror before his life at the chalkboard would flash before him. But suddenly, finally, the missing piece appeared in his brain, connecting his firing neurones.

He suspected the ecstasy would be temporary, but nonetheless put down the instrument of death, behind him and out of sight. He had solved the second sum, and if he could unravel the third then perhaps he could emulate his friend and mentor, the deceased Professor Cygnus Caveat.

He lay in the bath until the water was too cold to remain. He felt his wrists, grimacing at the heightened sensation. Would he really have done it, slashed his veins like a spurned crossdresser? If not, then how would he exit the stage later when the darkness returned, a fall from height, traffic collision, overdose? All ran the risk of survival with brain damage, and that thought was too much to bear. For the moment he was on the brink of returning an extinguished past, retrieving surgically removed memories.

Some work was authorised, other projects declined. He wouldn't take the risk this time. He decided to continue in secret, unannounced, and somewhere find a practice dummy.

There was only one desk and two chairs in the room. The walls were grey like the metal lightshade. There was no air conditioning, and you could smell the fear in the blistered paint, unlike the usual Alpine air of HQ. There was a large mirror on the wall at the opposite end of the room, and Anais guessed it wasn't for vanity. She had been ordered to sit; Fatale Eve stood, prowled the room. The needle marks were gone, her pock marked face now fresh and beautiful.

It was supposed to be a debrief but it felt more like an interrogation. There was something Fatale was hiding, but Anais had no idea, until now.

“Let me spell it out. The DVD I took from your boyfriend had no list of traitors,” said Fatale. “It was a movie, ‘The Crazy Joy.'''

“Shame, the sequel is much better.”

“You think this is some kind of joke?” asked Fatale.

“Of course not; you lost it,” said Anais, composing herself.

“No. Someone took it. See the difference? I lose one, I make a mistake. I never make mistakes. Someone takes one, they make a mistake, a very big one.”

“It wasn't me.”

“Colonel, you have nothing to gain and everything to lose if you keep the film.”

“And why is that?”

“Because, as I keep saying, it shows General Rolliet Eve discussing a coup with her co-conspirators. A plan for taking power, then suing for peace with the Undiagnosed. Not an unconditional surrender but denying our greatest achievements.”

Anais laughed.

“What's so funny?” asked Fatale.

“I used to think you were a master spy.”

“Anais, don't you realise the film could get you off the hook?”

“Did she tell you that, Vespertina? She's hiding behind that mirror, isn't she?”

Fatale turned around and walked slowly towards the table.

“I'm worried about you,” she said.

“And I'm worried for you, Fatale. Can't you see what's happening? That you're in danger?”

Now it was Fatale's turn to laugh. “You know he left you to die, don't you? Heroic soldier boy, Valiant.”

“That's not true,” screamed Anais. “He would never have left me. Where is he? What have you done with him?”

“Nothing, he shot himself before we or the Undiagnosed could get to him. He wouldn't come back, and couldn't live like a real man. He took the easy way out.”

“I don't believe you,” said Anais.

“It's irrelevant, isn't it, Anais, what you believe? I just want the truth.”

“I'm telling you the truth.”

“About the disc?”

“I don't have it.”

“This is pointless.”

“I couldn't agree more,” said Anais.

“You give me no choice but to use the truth serum.”

“Why haven't you already? Do you think she will let you, Fatale? I just might say something you can't ignore.”

“Vespertina has nothing to hide. I can assure you of that.”

“Then get the serum,” demanded Anais.

Fatale held her ear piece. “One moment, don't go anywhere.” She went to the door.

“It's Vespertina, isn't it?” shouted Anais after her.

Fatale closed the door behind her, and entered a side door. Seated with a glass of vodka in her hand was Vespertina, two armed shemales by her side.

“Yes, Surgeon General.”

“Fatale Eve, I think it would be unwise to use the truth serum at this particular time.”

“And your reason?”

“You dare to question me?”

“Forgive me.”

Vespertina paused, slowly breathing out her rage. “Her mind is too muddled at the moment; she might overlook something. Perhaps later,” she said.

“As you will have it,” said Fatale. “Is that all?”

But they both knew the truth serum was perfected for such confused and disorientated minds.

“Go back, maybe try a different angle.”

Fatale saluted, and returned to interrogation. The red light outside the room went back on.

“Let me guess,” said Anais, smiling, “for the moment truth serum is not an option. Perhaps I'm just too confused?”

Fatale was temporarily at a loss for words, and she was worried too. She was entering territory far more dangerous than Russia.

“Your present state of health indicates it may be harmful,” said Fatale.

“To me or Vespertina?”

Fatale sighed.

“Sorry General, I'm only trying to save you. But it may be too late for that,” said Anais.

“Let's say I believe you didn't swap the film, then who else do you think would?”

“You mean this recording that could prove General Rolliet set me up, and then set me free?” asked Anais.

“Correct.”

Anais shook her head, stared ahead in disbelief and anger. Fatale let her thaw for a while but she was immovable like an iceberg.

“Anais, your silence isn't very helpful,” said Fatale.

“Then, General, do us all a favour and remove your blindfold.”

“Colonel Anais Eve, so far I have been very generous. There are more brutal means to interrogate a prisoner.”

“I thought I was being debriefed.”

“Just make it easy on yourself.”

“OK, General, I'll answer your question. Who else could have the missing film? You said Valiant killed himself. You won't use the truth serum on me. Guess that leaves Vadim, but he's all the way back in Russia. Unless you're bluffing and it was you.”

Fatale touched her earpiece again. “We'll continue tomorrow,” she said.

Two armed shemales entered the room to escort Anais to her quarters.

“My room,” said Anais, “it has no Lusterone.”

“I'll send some across once you comply.”

“Quite the opposite. I was going to say leave it that way. I've been with Valiant 01.”

“I'm sorry,” said Fatale to Vespertina.

“On the contrary, General Fatale, a magnificent display. She's a tough nut to crack. We'll try again some other time.”

“Not tomorrow?”

“I don't think so. You both need a rest; I'm sending you to London for some R and R.'

“When?”

“In the morning. You'd better pack.”

Fatale couldn't get it out of her mind as the plane lifted off. Why didn't Vespertina use the truth serum? Or would Anais really implicate the surgeon general? She conveyed her fears to the council secretary in a text message ahead of her arrival.

They were still over the Alps when Fatale removed her safety belt, and decided to approach the pilot. They seemed awfully close to the mountains. The robot turned its head, and Fatale instantly looked for a parachute. Too late, the wing hit the side of the range, and burst into flames. A fiery crashing meteorite exploded on the ice. She wouldn't be retiring with Olga and all that money after all.

“What was that?” asked one of the shemale guards. From their view they could see an explosion.

“Don't worry,” said Vespertina. “I'm just tidying up some loose ends. Speaking of which, fetch me Colonel Anais Eve, I'm just in the mood to hear a young attractive woman scream.”

“Yes, madam,” said the prettier of her bodyguards.

“And Venelope...”

“Yes, madam.”

“If she goes for your gun, you have my permission to shoot her.”

Venelope grinned broadly. “Understood, madam.”

Venelope was biting her lower lip, frustrated but in no need of Lusterone.

“Colonel Anais?” asked Vespertina.

“Moved to another location.”

“On whose authority?” screamed Vespertina.

“The Council received a communique from Fatale Eve just before her unfortunate accident. She suggested a move, for the prisoner's safety.”

“And what else did this message convey?”

“She was worried about you.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Here's the message.” She passed Vespertina a small, typed note taken from communications.

“What do we do now?” asked Venelope.

“Move quickly.”

Altruist Huxley was in the canteen queue at Dame University in his golden lab coat. His genius was revered, but his personality avoided. He looked around for an unattended table to avoid any small talk and embarrassment. Then he spotted the pudding he hadn't had since a boy, spotted dick.

“Professor Huxley,” repeated the crossdresser serving food.

Altruist was lost in his own world, again, until a female student nudged him in the ribs from behind. She knew far less but was higher up the ladder.

“Apologies.” He ordered a pudding with custard. No starter, but this was the start of something big.

As he sat at the table all alone, steam came out of the bowl and his ears.

That was it, taste had a memory! If you could save, hide, someone's memory anywhere it would be in the tongue. He grabbed a serviette and wrote in eye pencil the answer to his academic prayers, the third sum.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The morning sun was shining through the curtains as I packed. I was surrounded by four armed shemales, one in each corner of the room, as I threw my clothes into the case. Hospital clothes, post- surgery. It might have been better to leave Anais to her fate; the colonel wouldn't, couldn't, come to rescue me. Besides, chances were she was dead, and I might as well be. I knew what awaited, my old life, in these dresses.

“Get a move on,” said one of the guards.

I closed the case, and they marched me out of the bedroom.

“Sorry, I forgot my favourite handbag, the marigold one,” I said.

The officer in charge grinned.

“OK, be quick.”

I was, and no one noticed.

“You know, I have one just like it,” said one of the shemales looking at my suede bag.

“Me too.”

“And me.”

Before I knew it, handbags were the talk of the party, and my guards became companions. But they were still escorting me directly to Dame University hospital.

I looked at the board as they scrubbed up.

“Valiant 01, two months' selective memory removal.”

The anaesthetist began to whistle as I was wheeled in, strapped down.

The surgeon and his tranny team were watched from above by five trainee surgeons, all female. I could see their nylon covered legs through the glass canopy, and felt what I would soon be missing: passion.

The anaesthetic began to take hold. My head was shaved. I was going under, and not down. There was no way out, and I hoped I would never remember that I was once a real man. Ignorance would truly be bliss. The last thing I saw was Anais' face, smiling at me in the Russian barn.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Altruist opened the skull with a saw, and after two incisions swiftly removed a group of cells, placing them in a kidney dish.

“Damn,” he said, “he's bit his tongue.”

He quickly made a new incision and sewed it up. Turning around with his elbow awry, the kidney dish hit the floor.

“Apologies everyone,” he said. “My, I am a clumsy so and so today.”

“Time for retirement, Altruist,” said the tranny operating theatre nurse.

“Indeed it is. OK everyone, the show is over, wheel him back to the ward. He'll feel like a new man when he wakes up, literally. And make sure his post-op notes say no cocktails for a week.”

Huxley was in his office, on the phone.