Apocalypse to Go (29 page)

“Let us hope not! But he might be right. Tell him we’d better find out.”

I did. Javert expressed satisfaction.

After a brief conference, Javert and I decided that running another scan might present more dangers than benefits. So that Jan and Ari could guard the operation, we stayed in the park until Davis returned Javert safely to his tank.

“We’ll be heading back to One,” Davis said to Spare14. “We’ll come back here tomorrow, but I think we’ll settle somewhere down by the ocean. Javert’ll tell O’Grady where, when we find a good spot.”

Davis hopped back into the truck and started the engine. They drove off west, following the curve of the water line, with the truck bouncing and jouncing on the uneven dirt road. No wonder Javert hated the tank! I received the impression that he was thinking of ejecting his stomach contents before they finally reached a paved area that led up to the smooth street.

“We’d best get back,” Spare14 said. “The last cable car runs around eleven-thirty.”

We caught a car down at the Fisherman’s Wharf terminus with no trouble and rode safely back to our stop on Mason. We headed down Broadway, a strangely silent street of shabby apartment houses. After a few blocks I received a SAWM, distant at first, stronger when we reached Columbus.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “Someone may be waiting for us.”

Ari and Jan both drew their Berettas. Ari drifted forward, Jan drifted back, and Spare14 laid a hand on my shoulder and guided me to stay in the middle with him. My stomach clenched in a fear that had nothing to do with psychism. I was thinking of Nuala, shot and dismembered just to challenge the man who loved her.

We walked past the bookstore to the mouth of the alley. I could see someone leaning against a wall about halfway
down. The SAWM doubled. I stopped walking and glanced behind me. Jan turned around to keep watch from the rear.

“Bad news,” I whispered.

Ari fired, one quick shot into the plaster wall next to and about the level of the lurker’s ankles. The person screamed, danced away from the spray of plaster chips, and threw her hands in the air—a young woman, I realized from the sound of her voice. In one hand she was clutching an object that gleamed like metal.

“Drop the weapon!” Ari called out.

In the building behind her, a light flashed in an upstairs window, then went right out again. By the brief flare I saw a woman dressed in a short skirt and a tight jacket.

“Ain’t got no gun,” she said. “It be a flashlight.”

“Drop it anyway.”

She bent her knees in a half squat and placed the flashlight on the ground. I got the impression that it was too expensive to risk breaking. She raised both hands again and stood up. When Ari gestured with the Beretta, she walked toward us with hesitant little steps on high heels.

“Hey,” she said. “Why you so uptight? Can’t a girl turn a trick in peace?”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Ari paused to look her over. “How many johns come down this alley?”

She wrinkled her nose in a pout, then lowered her arms and set her hands on her hips. I placed her age at around fifteen.

“A flashlight, is it?” Ari went on. “Trying to get a good look at someone?”

I could see her tighten like a strung wire.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s exactly what she was trying to do.”

The girl swayed a little to one side to look around Ari. “Shit,” she said. “You ain’t Nuala.”

“Damn right,” I said. “Who thought I was?”

“Lot of people, honey, just a lot of people wondering. Chief Hafner, he pay big money to get her back.”

“He can raise people from the dead?”

I laughed. She laughed as well, a creaky little sound.

“Who paid you?” Ari said. “I gather you wanted to shine
the light in Rose’s face for a look, then run back to your boss.”

“I ain’t gonna tell you nothing more. It’ll cost my life if I rat.”

Ari glanced at me. “She’s telling the truth,” I said.

“Then pick up your flashlight and go,” Ari said. “And tell whoever it is that Rose’s Jamaican pimp wants him to sod off.”

She laughed, quite naturally this time. “I will, good-looking,” she said. “That’s pretty damn funny.”

She minced off, paused to grab the flashlight, and headed out of the alley. Spare14 let out his breath in a puff of relief. He took out his key ring and used his own flashlight to find the locks on the two doors. I ran an SM:L on the apartment: no one was lurking there. I’ll admit to feeling more than a little relieved once we got safely upstairs. Spare14 drew the drapes over the window before he turned on the floor lamp.

“Well,” he said. “That was a bit upsetting.”

“Just a bit?” Jan said. “Ah, you Jamaicans! So fond of understatement!” He paused to turn in a slow circle and look over the living room. “But not fond of beds for overnight guests, I see.”

“Quite the contrary,” Spare14 said. “Agents use this apartment now and then. I have several air mattresses for those occasions. I suggest we allow O’Grady and Nathan to have the privacy of the bedroom, such as it is. Did you bring a bag?”

“Yes, I stowed it in the kitchen.” Jan paused to yawn. “It seems obvious that you never cook, and so I assumed it would be out of the way there.”

I decided to interrupt the banter. “One question. Ari just put a bullet into someone’s house. What’s going to happen about that?”

“Nothing,” Spare14 said. “If the householders are wise, at any rate, and I suspect they are. You noticed, I’m sure, how quickly the light went out again.”

“In SanFran,” Jan put in, “you don’t question men with guns.”

“I see. Okay, I just wondered. I think I’ll clean up a bit.”

I washed off my itchy makeup in the bathroom sink, dried off with a fraying towel, and did other necessary things. When I finished, Ari and I carried our gear into the bedroom. Ari opened the suitcase and brought out a small glass cube—a travel lamp. It provided the only light in the bedroom besides what came through the window from the street. I knelt on the floor and straightened out the blankets on the narrow mattress.

“It’s a good thing I love you,” I told Ari. “We don’t have a lot of room on this.”

“True. You can have the pillow.” He hesitated, then sat on the floor opposite me. “You’re holding back something about Michael, aren’t you?”

“What is this? You’re suddenly psychic, too?”

“No. I just know your moods by now.”

I considered, but I was too tired to lie.

“Is this room bugged?” I said.

“No. I’ve been all over it, and frankly, I don’t think Spare14 would eavesdrop on one of his agents.”

“Let’s hope not.” Still, I kept my voice low. “Michael seemed to be having entirely too much fun at that party. I’d like to believe it was all an act to put the gang off their guard, but the girl on his lap seemed to think it was real enough.”

“Ah. You didn’t mention the girl before.”

“Damn right I didn’t, not in front of the others. She was wearing a miniskirt. Nothing else, not even a bra.”

“Mike is sixteen, almost seventeen now, yes, but still. At that age, he’s going to take whatever a girl offers, no matter what the circumstances are.”

“I suppose so. You would have, huh?”

“Quite right.” He grinned at me. “And don’t tell me you’re shocked.” He let the grin fade. “I think we can trust him to do the right thing when we come to get him out of there, wherever that is. He wouldn’t have smiled when he sensed you if he’d truly gone over to Storm Blue’s side.”

“You’re right, aren’t you?” I felt relieved, at least about Michael. What troubled me still was the image of Sean, slumped and exhausted with that miserable collar around his neck. At least the gang was keeping him where he and
Mike could see each other. For that much I could be grateful.

I took off the top I’d been wearing and laid it into the suitcase. When I unhooked my bra, I examined the radiation badge by the light of the travel lamp. A thin blue line had appeared on the pink gel—a bad sign, I figured.

That night I dreamed about my family. I received no psychic messages, no clues, just fragments of memories, happy ones, mostly: running across lawns in the park, playing video games with Sean, taking care of baby Michael. In most of them my father appeared, smiling, good-looking in a macho kind of way, with better cheekbones than your average Irish guy has. Generally, he was patient with all of us, which, when you’ve got seven children, makes you a candidate for that first step on the road to sainthood. If you broke one of his rules, you got a hard slap for it, but that was always the end of the incident—one single slap, no recrimination, no taunting, no reminders. I had missed him bitterly for over thirteen years.

Yet I woke up remembering that he was also my mother’s brother, genetically speaking, and that he must have known it all along.

Gray fog light shone through the uncurtained window. Ari had rolled off the mattress onto the floor, but he stayed asleep on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms. I wondered if he’d slept that way on maneuvers with the army, lying right on the desert ground that had meant so much to his people for so long that he was willing to die for it.

I got dressed without waking him, then crept out of the bedroom. I could smell coffee. In the living room, I found Jan and Spare14 already up and awake. Spare14 turned his desk chair around and smiled at me.

“Great news!” he said. “Administration agrees that your father should be paroled. There are formalities, of course, but they’re proceeding with all possible speed.”

Both men were watching me expectantly, smiling a little, sure I’d be pleased.

“Wonderful!” I managed to stammer out the word. “How will he get here?”

“Davis and Javert will bring him when they come
through. I doubt if it’ll be today, thanks to those formalities, but soon, very soon.”

I tried to smile, but tears filled my eyes and spilled. I covered my face with both hands.

“Sorry,” I stammered. “I’m just so glad to hear it.”

I knew by their SPPs that they believed my lie, but even as I wept, even when I managed to choke it back and force a smile, I heard in my mind the grotesque laughter of the woman from my trance vision, laughing at my tears.

T
O HIDE MY FEELINGS
I went into the kitchen and made more coffee. It took some effort to figure out how to use the weird metal coffee pot Spare14 had, a thing called a percolator. Whether it was me, the canned grounds, or the percolator, the brew tasted awful, but it was coffee. I took two mugs into the bedroom. Ari woke, sat up, sniffed the air, and held out his hand. I gave him one of the mugs and stood by the window to drink mine.

“Dad’s going to be released,” I said.

“How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

Ari let it go at that. There are reasons I love him. Once he dressed, we rejoined the others. Over a breakfast of leftovers, Spare14 gave me more details about my father’s release.

“Once the courts approve, Davis will have temporary custody for prisoner transport. Your father is also still wearing a StopCollar. Davis will bring the code that releases them.”

“They don’t trust Dad, huh?” I said.

“Of course not.” Spare14 paused for a wry smile. “They do assume that once he sees you, he’ll know that we’re telling the truth about the danger his sons are in, and then he won’t just walk away from us.”

“You mentioned formalities.”

“Yes, a court hearing, entering data into the system, and checking him out of the halfway house where he’s been staying. That sort of thing. Once he’s free, Davis and Javert will go to Five to fetch him.”

“How long will all this take?”

“Normally, at least a week, but we’re trying to rush it through as an emergency. At the most, I hope, two days. Much depends on whether there’s a magistrate of the right sort available.” Spare14 paused to think. “I suppose he or she would be roughly equivalent to a superior court judge in your system.”

The wait meant time for Ari and me to return to Mission House. I made sure my makeup looked convincing before we left. Thanks to a bloated orange sun punching holes into the yellow mists, the day was hot and humid. Ari took off his sweater and substituted a beaten-up old denim shirt, worn untucked, that hid the shoulder holster from casual glances. Anyone who meant trouble, however, could spot it if they were careful and back off. If they weren’t careful, Ari would deal with them.

As we walked down to Sackamenna Street, Ari warned me that my father would have changed in disturbing ways.

“It’s not just the passing of time,” he said. “Prison does things to men. I’m afraid that with your talents, you’re going to receive a painful impression.”

“I’ve read about it, but yeah, that’s not the same as experiencing it.”

He caught my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

At Mission House a formidable young woman, tall and muscled, wearing black pants, maroon tunic, and the black headscarf, stood just inside the door. When we told her we wanted to see Major Grace, she told us to go right up.

“May God and Sophia bless you,” she said.