Brother Termite (6 page)

“Cousin Reen-ja!” Thural cried in a piping, hysterical voice. “Is he dead?”

“No. Not yet.” Frantically Reen tried to drag his Brother toward the ship with his claw. Tali’s head lolled; his flaccid arms hung; the body rolled out of Reen’s grasp and tumbled heavily to the pavement.

Over the screams of the crowd and the shouts of the policemen, Reen heard the stuttering rattle of a machine gun. One of the FBI agents was firing warning shots with his Uzi. Poofs of dust ran along the wall of the Riggs Bank.

“Help me, Thural! Please! Won’t you help me carry him?” Hooking his claw under the seam at Tali’s upper arm, Reen jerked the body to its knees. Thural mastered his stunned confusion enough to grab the Cousin Conscience by the belt. Staggering under the dead weight, they dragged him to the ship.

The door parted as they approached. Thural let go of Tali and threw himself into the pilot’s seat. Reen eased Tali’s slumped form into his lap.

It was as though he were falling into a pillowy well. Reen dimly felt the ship jerk sideways, heard a metallic clunk as it slammed the red Jaguar into the grille of the Cadillac behind. He struggled to think. If he didn’t fight the Communal Mind, he would end up as useless as a Loving Helper. “Up! Go
up!”

Thural pulled on the ball. The ship wrenched itself into the air.

And silently, helplessly, Reen dropped. He fell toward a colorless place where nothing was important: the Vespa, the riot, the coming war. Then Reen’s weakening grip loosened even the cherished: Womack, Marian, Angela.

With a moan Reen sat up. The ship was hovering above the Victorian mass of Georgetown Park, quivering as much as Thural himself. “The Potomac,” Reen said.

Thural slewed the craft over the elevated Whitehurst Freeway until it was seesawing above the river.

Again Reen tumbled down, down, this time into a darkness where Tali’s secret thoughts lurked, an unexpected and unexplored den of monsters. Startled, he pushed away his Brother’s frightening thoughts. “Andrews. Get us to Andrews,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Cousin.” Thural lifted the craft high enough to miss the bumper-to-bumper traffic on Theodore Roosevelt Bridge.

Tali’s hand twitched. Thural glanced over in surprised relief. “I think he is coming out of it, Reen-ja.”

Tali heaved himself upright in Reen’s lap, drunkenly fumbling at the wound on his shoulder. Caught in the undertow of oblivion, Reen held his Brother tight so the childhood comfort of Cousin flesh against flesh would call him back.

“Cousin Conscience,” Thural said. “Tali. Listen to me. You must stir yourself. The little death nibbles at you.”

A few nonsense syllables dropped from Tali’s mouth. Then he said in a muddy voice, “They hurt me.”

“Yes. Do you remember now?”

Tali’s eyes were suddenly clear, the gaze piercing. He twisted out of Reen’s grip and the bonds of Communal Mind dropped away so suddenly that the onrush of freedom made Reen gasp.

“I remember. Get your hands off me, Cousin Brother. We are not children anymore.”

He shoved past Reen with such force that he bumped Thural, sending the ship into a brief, alarming dive toward the Capitol. Tali did not notice. Breathing hard, he dropped into the rear seat. “They hurt me.”

Reen remembered when they were children–when thoughts were innocent and life was less constrained. Centuries before, he and Tali had touched. Then, when they were grown, touching became taboo. As much as the Communal Mind repulsed Reen, he’d once mourned its loss, and Tali had mourned with him.

Now his Brother sat, arms rigidly at his sides, disgust in his face.

“Are you all right, Cousin?” Thural asked solicitously.

Tali curled his claw underneath the bar of his nameplate and savagely tore it off. The bit of plastic flew past Thural’s head and pinged off the canopy. “They do not bother to learn our names.”

Reen stared at the rectangle of black plastic lying on the control panel. The hook of the nameplate was bent at a furious angle.

Thural told him, “They don’t see as we see, Cousin. We all look alike to them.”

The ship swept over the congestion on Suitland Parkway.

“I will never wear the nameplate again. Not ever.”

Reen turned to study his Brother. Tali was glaring down at the traffic below as though he wished he were an alien from an old science fiction movie and the scene they were playing with the humans was from
War of the Worlds.
He stared down at the pedestrians and the cars like Godzilla, wanting to crush them all.

Reen’s heart skipped a beat. “As you wish, Cousin Brother.”

WHEN
they arrived at Andrews, Tali, still wobbly from his brush with the little death, climbed down from the ship. On the tarmac he pulled his sleeve free from Thural’ s steadying claw and marched into the Cousin Place, leaving Thural and Reen standing alone.

Thural said, “It must be a small wound. Tali will be all right, Cousin First Brother.”

But would he?
Remembering the ugliness he had sensed in his Brother’s mind, Reen wondered if the wound was deeper than Thural knew. “Yes, I am sure he will,” he told him. “I would like you to take me to the White House now.”

As they lifted off again, Reen noticed that some of Tali’s blood had splattered on his tunic. He brushed at the stiffening stain, knocking off a few brown flakes.

In a low, diffident voice Thural said, “Cousin Tali is too full of anger, Reen-ja.”

“It is wrong to criticize the Conscience,” Reen said curtly, hoping Thural would change the subject.

“Yes. Still, the humans have done nothing to us, and Tali has too much anger.”

They banked over the Tidal Basin and passed the Washington Monument. Reen took his Brother’s broken nameplate from the control panel and closed his fist over it.

Troops had been called out to the White House. The men by the tanks looked up as the craft passed over their heads. On landing, Reen jumped from the ship without exchanging another word with Thural. As he walked to the West Wing, he slipped Tali’s broken nameplate into his pocket.

Hopkins was waiting for him in the colonnade. “Reen? That you?” The man bent over to read the tag on Reen’s chest.

“It’s me.”

The director’s beefy face sagged in relief. “Thank God. My guys phoned me to say an alien was down, but they weren’t sure which of you it was.”

“Tali.” Reen strode past the director and down the hall toward the main building.

“Tali? Oh, Jesus Christ. Not Tali. Hey, where are you going?”

“To see the President.”

“Oh, that won’t do you any good.” Hopkins panted as he kept up with Reen’s quick pace. “I went up a minute ago to talk to him, and the man was
drooling.
He was drooling all down his shirt. Must be a bad day or something. Say, I’m sorry about Tali. My guys did all they could, considering that–”

“Tali is recovering.”

Hopkins put one hand to his chest. “God. The stress, you wouldn’t believe. I thought I had my right nut in the wringer.”

Near the kitchen was new graffiti.

AT GROVER’S MILL.

BRING CHICKEN POX.

“War of the Worlds,”
Reen whispered.

“Huh?”

“I’m not fond of fiction, but I felt I should study all fictionalized aliens. Whoever wrote the graffiti has heard about the radio play
War of the Worlds.
That should give you a clue about who is doing this.”

“Oh.” Hopkins squinted at the message. “Grover’s Mill. Now I get it. But everyone and his dog’s heard about that. Won’t do us much good.”

From the other end of the carpeted hall Marian Cole called Reen’s name.

“Bitch,” Hopkins muttered.

She approached at a saunter. “And good afternoon to you, too, Billy. Reen, I know you’re going up to visit the President, but I need to talk to you now.”

Out of the corner of his mouth Hopkins told Reen, “Watch yourself with her. I don’t know what she’s got on you, but–”

“Now, please,” Marian said, and led Reen down the wide red-carpeted hall to the Map Room. A fire had been banked in the hearth, and a plate of food had been set out.

“Go ahead,” Marian told him. “I know you’re hungry. If no one bothers to remind you, you forget to eat.”

Touched, he sat down. She took a chair opposite and rested her chin in her hand. “Detective Rushing is one of ours. I want you to make sure he gets a good look at the body before the FBI takes over.”

Reen cut into a stuffed tomato. “So that’s how he knew a Cousin had been kidnapped. Certainly he may have the body, if you like.”

“I like. How’s Tali?”

He was moved, too, that she asked about his Brother, and pleased that Rushing had been perceptive enough to notice which Cousin had fallen. “Better, thank you.”

“Shit,” she said with guttural anger. “Rushing told me he was down. I hoped he was dead.”

He lowered a forkful of chicken salad. The heavy silverware chimed against the porcelain. Reen looked into her eyes and was cast adrift in the turbulent ocean of their blue. “I have never wished harm on any human, as you have just wished on my Brother.”

She took a breath. “Vilishnikov has taken the precaution of calling out the army. You probably saw the troops in front of the White House. We’ve picked up new satellite data. German tanks are massing on Russia’s border with China.”

He wanted to touch her. Was afraid to. “Sometimes I wish I had treated you like the others. You could have been any one of hundreds of women, never knowing, never remembering ...”

“Reen!” Her cheeks were flushed; her tone sharp. “Germany is heading up a European invasion of China. What do you plan to do when the missiles start flying?”

With his claw Reen pushed a potato chip to the side of his plate. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Is it Howard? Is that what the problem is?”

Her laugh was short and ironic. “Howard?”

“Something has happened between us. Are you still in love with Howard?”

“Oh, Reen. Love dies. It’s no big deal,” she said softly. “It happens every day: People fall in love, they fall out of love. Relationships end.”

He clutched her hand. It was warm, warm as the glow from the fire. He squeezed her so tightly, he could feel her pulse. “I don’t understand endings.”

The room was hushed, the air heavy with the scent of lemon oil and furniture polish. She fought to pull free of his grip. After a moment he opened his fingers and let her go.

“I used to hold your hand and you clung to me. Do you remember?” he asked. “During the experiments, we shared things, as Brother bonds to Brother. Cousins live centuries, Marian. And love is the only neverending thing we have.”

He had searched for that Brother union in Marian. Too late, he understood the consequences of what he had done. He made Marian remember the pain so that she would grow to need the comfort of his touch.

“It was a long time ago.” She sat back. “What’s in your pocket?”

He had forgotten the subpoena. Now he took it out and handed it to her. She read it, chuckled, and gave it back. “Get a good lawyer.”

“I’ve never been before a Senate subcommittee. What will they do?”

Suddenly her smile failed. He stiffened in alarm.

“Reen, you’re in danger. So’s the President. And Tali’s behind it.”

Reen made an irritated click-click with his tongue. “Only humans are so fickle.”

“Tali’s involved. And Jonis has to be found.”

She must have noticed him flinch because she asked, “What’s the story with Jonis?”

He picked at the gold rim of the plate with his claw. “I was afraid I would find the kidnapper was you.”

Love,
Reen thought. It was the only neverending thing he had. It didn’t matter that Tali gave Reen his disapproval. He also gave him love. As Brothers that was something neither Reen nor Tali could help.

“I didn’t take Jonis,” she said. “But your Brother knows who did.”

He got up quickly and walked to the door, stuffing the subpoena in his pocket.

“Reen? Your Brother knows who did.”

As he left, his hand touched the edge of his Brother’s nametag, and he fingered it thoughtfully.

BEFORE
going to
see the President, Reen went to the West Wing to order the FBI to hand over Martinez’s body. On his way out, the House majority whip waylaid him.

“Do you realize how hard it was to get that bill passed?” Barbara Yates was not much taller than Reen. Eye level. Her anger was visceral and barbaric.

“The Eastern bloc outnumbers us two to one. The Chinese delegation is so big, most of them have to vote electronically. Do you realize how many arms I had to twist? We’re in a recession. This bill could get the economy moving. When does the President plan to sign?”

“I’m sorry.” He was sorry about Marian’s bitterness, about the impending war. He was sorry for it all.

“I hear you were served the subpoena. Six days from now the hearing will be broadcast live on C-Span. It’ll be picked up on the networks. Womack’s too popular to target, but
you ..
. You’re dead meat. That black budget of Womack’s–you know how much he spent this year? Two million! What in hell is he doing that costs two million dollars? And what’s important enough about his veto to make our boys go to war?”

“I don’t know. I don’t–”

“Well, you’d better just find out, hadn’t you. And you’d better be ready to answer, or you’ll be found in contempt of Congress. And tell Womack to stuff his executive branch power play up–”

Reen fled. Barbara Yates’s shouts followed him out the door.

Hopkins had either given up waiting for Reen or had decided, uncharacteristically, to go back to work. Reen passed a Secret Service agent standing at wordless attention in the cross hall and took the elevator to the second floor.

In the presidential study a fire was lit against the chill of the misty day. Womack and a weak-chinned, bespectacled man in a T-shirt were seated at the Santa Fe table having coffee.

“Hi, Termite,” Womack said. “Meet Lizard.”

The man lifted an emaciated arm in greeting. Lizard had horn-rimmed glasses and the sort of skin that looks as though it can be used for polishing silver.

“Can we talk in private?” Two million dollars for mediums. The sum sounded exorbitant.

“You can talk in front of Lizard,” Womack said.

Reen shook his head. “I would rather not.”

Lizard tucked his thumbs into his belt and slumped with insolent indifference.

“What’d you want to talk about?” Womack asked. “Go ahead. Don’t mind Lizard. He’s dead.”

Lizard nodded sagely, his glasses glinting in the light. “Laid my hog down in 1972 doing eighty-five on Highway 20. So I don’t have no stake in no live people shit.”

Confused, Reen took a seat close to Womack. “Bernard Martinez was found strangled.”

“Oh, bummer,” Lizard groaned. “Me and Bernie were tight.” He shoved an entwined fore- and middle finger into Reen’s face. “Like fucking brothers. I mean, even though Bernard was shitting corporeal and all.”

“Why don’t you call Bernard and see who killed him?” Womack suggested.

Lizard’s eyes rolled back into his head. Reen sat selfconsciously, watching the bloodshot whites. Finally the medium’s irises returned to their normal position and he gave Reen a lupine smile. “Bernie ain’t talking, man. He’s ascended, you know. An important fucker in the spirit world.”

Reen glanced down at Lizard’s torn jeans. Little of the two million, apparently, had been spent on clothes. A tab of blue protruded from a begrimed pocket. Lizard must have bought his karma tickets the same place Bernard had.

“How well did you know Jonis?” Reen asked the medium.

Lizard darted a glance at him, then looked away. “Man,
everybody
knew Jonis. Jonis got around.” After a pause he said softly, “Some shit happening in the basement of the West Wing. Heavy shit. While Jeremy was sleeping it off by the pool, he heard something.”

“Who’s Jeremy?” Reen asked.

With a wave of a gnarled hand Womack motioned him silent. “Jeremy’s the medium. Lizard’s the spirit guide. Let him talk. Go on, Lizard.”

Lizard’s eyes were the still, muddy color of algae in a shallow pond. “He heard something he wished he hadn’t, man. And then he drank and hoped he’d forget it. Hoped God would forgive him for getting shit-faced, and prayed nobody’d seen him there.”

“What’d he overhear?” Womack asked.

“Heavy, heavy shit.”

Weary of this, Reen turned to Womack. “Thural tells me Jonis arranged to buy karma for you, Jeff. Who else was he involved with other than the karma sellers?”

Instead of Womack, Lizard answered. “Wasn’t no karma sellers who offed Jonis. And they didn’t mean to ice him.”

“Why do you think Jonis is dead?”

Lizard turned those hazel eyes on Reen. The pools were muddier and deeper than he at first imagined. If he fell into Lizard’s eyes, those dank waters would close over him. “His ghost comes to me, man. That’s how I know. He says they was real surprised how easy you guys die.”

A thrill of fear ran down Reen’s back like a rivulet of rain.

“You want to talk to him?”

“No,” Reen said sharply.

“Funny. Jonis wants to talk to you,” Lizard said. “He keeps trying to get your attention. Wants to apologize, he says. Wants to warn you. But he says you only listen to those old farts. The big shadows.”

Startled, Reen blundered up from his chair. He was sure he had never described the Old Ones to Womack.

Womack caught Reen’s wrist. “Remember what I found in the West Wing, termite? The thing that had no business being there?”

Reen pulled out of Womack’s grip.

Lizard said, “They killed Bernie but not before he found out what they was doing. And they kidnapped Jonis because Jonis knew it all.”

Womack leaned over the table. “It’s coming to a head. I can feel it. Teddy Roosevelt tells me so. Cut your losses, termite. Get people close to you that you can trust. Fire Cole and Hopkins before it’s too late.”

Reen jumped to his feet and ran for the elevator, Womack following in his fast old-man shamble. “Reen! Reen!”

Reen plunged into the safety of the car, but before the door could close, Womack slapped a hand on the jamb. “Get rid of them, termite.”

Reen pounded the row of buttons frantically, by accident setting off the alarm. Womack stepped into the elevator, and the car started its descent. “You’ll have the Secret Service crawling all over us.”

Reen turned his back.

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Womack said.

Reen concentrated on the whirls of the wood paneling, how they nested into one another, shape into shape, like waves seen from a height. He lost himself briefly in the comfort of its pattern.

The elevator stopped. The doors rumbled open. A worried voice: “Sir? Is everything all right?”

“Elevator goes up,” Womack chirped in his official-idiot voice. “Elevator goes down.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

The doors rumbled closed. The car lifted.

“Are you still talking to me?” Womack asked.

“No.”

“You trust people too much, termite.”

“You and my Brother should get together, since you both enjoy lecturing me.”

The door opened. Reen walked out of the vestibule and headed to the stairs.

“Your Brother’s in the middle of it,” Womack said, grabbing his arm.

In the study Lizard was sitting calmly in his chair, drinking his coffee. Their gazes met. Lizard’s eyes had the tranquil self-assuredness of a man twice his size.

The President marched Reen back to the elevator, pulled a key from his pocket, inserted it into a brass plate, and turned. The car stayed put; the doors stayed shut.

“Did you hear me?” Womack asked.

“Yes. But I don’t believe you.”

The President leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “I’m scared to death, termite.”

Reen was frightened, too. Frightened by the voices the medium had heard in the night; by Womack’s lunacy.

“Get rid of Cole and Hopkins. They’re spiders. You can’t walk around Washington without getting a faceful of web.”

“But only you can fire them.”

“Forge my signature like you usually do.”

“If you’re so worried about them, why don’t you abandon your strike and fire them yourself?”

“You took my office.”

“I will give it back.”

“No thanks.”

Ordinarily Reen liked tight places, but the small elevator car was beginning to suffocate him. Womack was close enough for Reen to feel the heat of his body.

“You fire Krupner yet?” the President asked.

“Do you think he’s in on it, too?”

“Not Krupner. But you’d better fire him all the same. It’ll give you some practice. Never fired anyone before, right? Okay. First, you go in and sit on his desk. He sits in his chair. That gives you the advantage of height. Then you say something like, ‘You know we’re all fond of you, Hans.’ That way he won’t be able to bitch about it being personal. You tell him, ‘But lately you haven’t been pulling your own weight.’ You with me so far?”

“You haven’t been pulling your own weight,” Reen repeated dubiously.

“That’s the way. Then you say, ‘We need a good halfback, someone who can carry the ball. You just haven’t been advancing the offense upfield.’ Understand?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t matter. You tell him. He’ll get the idea. Then you call the Germans and tell them you fired Krupner. Don’t tell them before. Work from a position of strength, otherwise the bastards will think they can yank your dick every time you turn around.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to make the Germans angry right now? An army is mobilizing on the border of China, and the CIA says the Germans are behind it.”

Womack clapped his palms together with glee. “That’s perfect! If the Germans are planning to invade China, they won’t dare give you any grief over Krupner.” The President took the key from its plate and pocketed it. Before he left, he leaned toward Reen, his eyes abnormally wide, mouth pursed, forefinger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell anyone what we talked about. It’s dangerous.”

Reen wondered which was more dangerous, Womack’s paranoia or discussing Womack’s paranoia with a third party.

In the hall he paused, undecided. In the fifty years since the landing, Jeff Womack’s guidance had been invaluable, consistently astute. But Reen was beginning to see it was now necessary to separate the President’s kernels of reason from their demented chaff. Firing Krupner seemed logical when Womack had first suggested it. Now Reen wasn’t so sure.

“May I help you, sir?” the man on duty asked.

Reen ignored him and walked to the West Wing.

Once in the first level of the basement, Reen looked for Krupner’s office and found the nameplate,
HANS KRUPNER
,
EDUCATION COUNSEL
, at the end of a dark corridor next to the bathrooms. He opened the door. Krupner’s tiny office was a riotous origami zoo.

“Dr. Krupner?” Reen called .

Past a barrier of varied animals on the desk, a voice answered: “Yes?”

As Reen approached, Krupner’s balding pate came into view, followed by his round, questioning brown eyes. Reen searched for a place on the desk to sit, failed, and at last took a seat on a steel folding chair.

“Hans,” he began, peering over a spread-winged eagle. “We’re all very fond of you.”

Brows rose over Krupner’s bonbon eyes. “Yes?”

Reen, leaning forward to bring more of Krupner’s face into view, nearly crushed a paper horse. “But I’ve noticed lately that you’re not pulling weight.”

Krupner’s face became very still.

Reen blundered on. “We need a good half to carry a ball. You don’t advance the field.”

Blood had drained from Krupner’s cheeks, leaving them the color of paper, as if the man had become an origami self-portrait. A line of perspiration salted his upper lip.

Reen wanted more than anything to flee from the tiny office and Krupner’s agonizing stare. It hadn’t been his intention to hurt the man’s feelings. He had expected that Krupner would protest the firing, would perhaps indignantly resign. Instead the silence in the room was a soft but inescapable pressure, like a pillow forced against the face.

The corners of Krupner’s mouth trembled. He was bent forward, straining; but Reen couldn’t tell what exactly he was straining for. Could the man be in pain? Could he be–God forbid–voiding his bowels in the chair? Then the answer hit Reen. What he was seeing was intense confusion.
“Bitte?”
Krupner asked uncertainly. “I’m sorry. I don’t–”

“You’re fired.”

Tears sprang to Krupner’s eyes. His head dropped into the cage of his hands.
“Gott in Himmel. Gott sei dank,”
he said. “I’d thought–”

Reen backed quickly to the door. “Have your resignation on my desk in an hour.”

Up and down went Krupner’s head. Up and down. He stared around the room, as though already planning how to pack his animals.

“I’ll call Germany for you.”

“Ja, ja,”
Krupner agreed in a lackluster voice.

Reen hurried upstairs to the Oval Office. The House majority whip, he noticed with relief, was gone. “Call Germany,” he ordered as he passed the reception area where Natalie sat reading a novel.

Still clutching her book, finger marking the page, she stood and followed him. “Do you realize what time it is there?”