Edge of Dawn (7 page)

“May I help you?” She sounded both surprised and irritated.

“I'm sorry, I should have called ahead,” he said as he walked forward, hand extended. “I'm Richard Oort.”

She was a good five inches taller than Richard, and he gave an internal sigh. He had noticed that California grew females tall, or seemed to attract the tall ones.

“Okay,” she said in that tone that indicated it was anything but.

“I'm your boss. Technically.”

“Oh.” She dropped back into the desk chair. “Nobody told me you were coming.”

“My fault. I should have had someone call you, but this was a rather sudden trip. Do you think you can get me a hotel reservation?”

“Sure. How many nights?”

“Let's say three. My plans are, shall we say, fluid.”

“Okay.” She picked up the phone.

Richard was amused at her single-minded focus on the task at hand. “Do you have a name?”

“Yeah.”

“Might I know it?” he prodded. Amusement was threatening to become annoyance.

“Um, okay. It's Azura—”

“No wonder you were hesitant to tell me,” Richard said. “That can't really be your name.”

The girl's mouth pouted, but he noted that her eyes were dancing. “Oh, okay. It's actually Amy, but Azura looks better on a publicity still. Catches the eye, you know?”

“I didn't know.”

“Of course, nothing will help if you don't have the looks.” She scanned his face. “Have you ever thought about acting? You're really handsome.”

Richard felt a blush rising into his cheeks. “No. Never.”

“Too bad. You would totally have the female casting directors creaming themselves.”

“I think I'm a little a short for a leading man.”

“Oh, heck no. A lot of the big stars are shrimps. Uh … sorry, that didn't come out exactly right.”

Richard hid a smile, glad that Amy's blush now probably matched his own. “No problem. So I take it working for Lumina isn't a long-term career path?” Richard asked.

Amy/Azura made a face, which on her was very cute. “Sorry, no. There was an ad, and this was perfect because it wasn't full time, and almost nobody calls, so I have plenty of time to study lines and go to auditions. I know it's stupid. Every girl who's been in theater or was homecoming queen thinks she can make it in the movies, but I just
had
to try. Fortunately, my dad's very big on just going for it. Dream big, he always says—”

There seemed to be an inexhaustible flow of information. Richard cleared his throat. Azura/Amy wasn't stupid. She quickly said, “Oh, sorry. You probably want me to get that reservation, don't you?”

“I'd like a shower. These freeways are unbelievable.”

“I'm on it.”

Richard went off to explore the inner office. It was as sparse and utilitarian as the outer one. He sat down behind the desk and tried to force himself to pick up the phone and call the office back in New Mexico. Then he remembered it was past six there, and he slumped with relief. He could avoid problems and decisions for at least one night.

Amy/Azura appeared in the door. “I booked you at the Sofitel. It's just a few blocks away.”

“Perfect.” Richard rested his hands on the desk, levering himself to his feet. He grimaced as the stitches pulled.

“Um … do you want to get … dinner?” the girl asked.

He stared at her, noting the heightened color in her cheeks, and realized this was a not-so-subtle come-on. Beautiful? Yes. Young but not too young? Yes. Interested? No.

He shook his head. “I'm beat. I'm just going to get room service.”

“Oh, okay. Rain check, then.”

“I'll see you in the morning.”

“Oh, so you're coming back in.”

“For as long as I'm in town.” He added a barb. “I hope that won't interfere with any plans.”

She got it, and her jaw gave a defensive thrust. “No, sir. I'll see you tomorrow.”

*   *   *

The next morning, Amy/Azura was at her desk and dressed in young-woman-professional-chic. Richard recognized it because he'd seen both his sisters wearing the exact same look.

“Good morning, sir.” The greeting made him feel suddenly old. “I talked to the Albuquerque office, and Jeannette forwarded a number of messages.” Richard sighed as he eyed the handful of pink call-back slips Amy/Azura was holding. “Jeannette also said to remind you to inoculate me. That sounds kinky and ominous. Are we going to play doctor?” She touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip.

“Nothing that…” Richard groped for a word that wouldn't encourage the girl or terrify her. “Interesting.”

“Oh, too bad.” She leaned back in her chair, which accentuated her cleavage, and her knees opened a few inches.

Richard decided to wait on using the sword on this problematic employee. He needed to figure out a way to explain this particular requirement of employment and also how to defuse the girl's interest.
Of course the pain inflicted by the sword might do the trick,
he thought, as he took the handful of slips from her.

“Oh, and she said to tell you to call the FBI agent first.”

“Okay.”

Shuffling through the slips, Richard went through the door into the inner office. He found the one from the FBI agent, and it wasn't who he expected. He frequently consulted with Bob Franklin; with Samantha, the foul-mouthed sniper; and occasionally with the director himself. But this message was from Jay Haskell.

Jay hadn't been a big fan, so Richard was a little surprised he was calling. Jay had been part of the team that assaulted Grenier's old compound the second time, when Richard had been leading the assault rather than the one needing rescue. The agent had played bullshit macho games all through that effort. It also hadn't helped that nothing had gone as planned—they'd lost one of their own during the assault, and Angela was already dead.

Richard went to the window and looked down at the river of cars flowing past on Wilshire Boulevard. He tried not to fixate on events in the past, on things he couldn't change, choices he could not undo, but sometimes the guilt and the sense of failure would rise up and crush him with the force of a falling wave. Angela was dead, and Kenntnis, his mentor, perhaps permanently impaired. Richard rested his forehead against the glass.

He glanced down at the message slip crumpled tightly in his fist. He unclenched his fingers and studied the number. It had a 505 area code. That was most of New Mexico. So what the hell was Jay doing in New Mexico? Last Richard knew, the agent had been in D.C. Had he come to New Mexico specifically to see him? He went to his desk and made the call.

“Hi, Jay, it's Richard. And what the heck are you doing in New Mexico?”

“I got transferred. Don't know why the hell you were so eager to get back out here. It's the ass end of nowhere. Place looks like the fuckin' moon.”

Richard chuckled. “That was my initial reaction, but don't stay more than six months. The place gets under your skin, and you'll find you won't be able to leave.”

“Yeah, just watch me. I'm gonna be leaving a dust cloud like the Road Runner in a Wile E. Coyote cartoon. Anyway, I've got a case…” Jay's voice trailed away. “I think it's one of yours.” Richard could hear the reluctance in the man's voice.

One of yours.
Words Richard had come to dread. He was glad Jay had learned and accepted enough to recognize when something was Richard's, but it felt like one more giant brick being placed on his chest. They kept clearing incursions. He'd faced down close to a dozen Old Ones, and so far the score was Richard eleven, Old Ones zero. But how long until one of them did more than just score his ribs with a claw and
actually
rather than
almost
drag him through a tear between the worlds? Sometimes Richard felt like King Canute, or Sisyphus. He decided to pick a different myth. Those two guys never succeeded in their tasks. Maybe Hercules. At least he finally completed the twelve labors.

“Tell me about it.”

“Little Navajo girl. She turned up at the rangers' cabins in Chaco Canyon dressed only in her nightie. She said the witches had taken over her brother and had him kill the whole family. She had blood on the hem of her gown, and the soles of her shoes. One of the rangers said he saw a figure, it might have been a boy, staring at the cabins, but when he went out to investigate, the person was gone. Anyway, they called us. You know the FBI has jurisdiction on Indian and BIA land?”

“Yes. Go on.”

“I got sent. The rangers had found some clothes that almost fit the kid, and she led us out to the hogan. Sure enough, dead family—mom, dad, granddad. She said the witches appeared to her brother in the computer he'd been given. Faces in the screen is what she said. The rangers thought she was just talking about the Internet, YouTube, that kind of thing, but what she described reminded me of those things we saw in Virginia. So I checked it out, but it just looks like a cheap computer to me.”

“Yeah, but you've been inoculated. They can't reach you. What about the brother?”

“We finally found him. Well, his body. He'd just walked off into the canyons and died of thirst and exposure.”

“Lovely.”

Jay cleared his throat. “So, how do we tell if this computer thing is real? And if it is, that's really scary shit. There's a crap load of computers in the world.”

“We'll use Cross. He can sense magic. If the computer is the source of the tear, he'll know. And yeah, the idea that they can reach through the screens of computers…” It was a nightmare scenario. He continued, “I'm dealing with a potential incursion in California, but the ramifications of this are huge. I think I've got to check it out right away. Have you got the computer?”

“Yeah.”

“Whatever you do, keep control over it. We don't want it affecting anybody else. And where's the girl?” Richard asked.

“With her aunt's family. Someplace called Shiprock. Why?”

“She deserves to know she was right.”

“Yeah, I guess that's true.”

“I'll get there as soon as I can,” Richard said, and ended the call. The moment he hung up, Richard realized he'd forgotten to ask a critical question. He called Jay back.

“Yeah?”

“Who made the computer?”

“Who knows? Don't you remember the fucking world is flat now?”

“Yeah, yeah, just give me the name on the case. We can track it.”

“Hang on a sec.”

It was more like ten minutes, but finally Jay returned to the line. “Gaia. Ever heard of it?”

“No, but I'll check it out. Thanks for the heads-up, Jay.”

“Yeah, you say that
now,
but when we're up to our asses in monsters out on the rez, I think you'll be cussing me.”

“Oh, probably,” he said lightly. “May I have a private number where I can reach you?”

The agent provided a cell number, and they hung up.

Shaking off the anxiety, Richard booted up a browser. He went to Google and typed in
Gaia computers.
He got an article in the
Wall Street Journal
dating from six months earlier about the attempt to place low-cost, kid-friendly computers in third-world countries and rural, poverty-stricken areas of the United States. These efforts had begun after Gaia had been purchased by Wilton Hedge Funds. More digging revealed that Wilton was managed by the Titchen Group.

Richard leaned back in his chair. “My, my, you have your tentacles everywhere, don't you?” he said aloud.

Jorge had done a cursory analysis of Titchen. It was now time to dig deep. Richard began by reading article after article on the company. Unlike Lumina, which bankrolled high-tech, cutting-edge research into alternative energy and biotech, Titchen specialized in bankrolling mining and oil interests—very much nineteenth-century products. Which made the purchase of Gaia very out of character.

Richard dug further. Looking to see if the Titchen Group had a history of philanthropic activities, he didn't find a single other instance aside from the very creepy prayerful community, which he was trying to subvert. And they certainly weren't giving away the houses in Gilead. The investors in Titchen were making money off the subdivision.

He found himself contrasting that with Lumina. Their single largest outlay of money was to fund various charitable projects around the world. They backed organizations that built health clinics and schools, dug wells, handed out mosquito netting, provided seed stock engineered for a given area and climate, helped reclaim exhausted farm land, and so much more that Richard couldn't remember it all.

Richard found a few photos of the man, which revealed him to be tall and spare with a receding hairline and wire-rim glasses, and the brown eyes behind those lenses were calculating. Maybe Alexander had suddenly grown a conscience? But he was bankrolling a subdivision that was creating a rune. Could it be the actions of others in his company? Some kind of cabal of middle-range officers? Richard would want proof of that before he gave Alexander a pass.
Faces in the screen.
Leaning back in his chair, Richard thoughtfully tapped his front teeth with a forefinger. The whole thing was very hinky.

Another hour of digging on Titchen convinced Richard that these really weren't his kind of people. The Titchen Group had defied the boycott of South Africa during the 1980s, and the board seemed to have a number of South American and Asian dictators among their number. Titchen was also named in close to twenty lawsuits alleging that the activities of subsidiaries of the company had polluted the water and endangered the populations of poor, rural, yet resource-rich areas.

No, it didn't look like Alex had grown a conscience.

But now they were making computers available to underprivileged kids. Richard leaned back, laced his hands behind his head, and frowned at the computer screen, which displayed the logo of Titchen, an elaborate affair with birds and keys and griffins and what appeared to be a phoenix surrounded by flames. He wished he could just send Cross alone to the FBI office to look at the computer, but that was impossible. Richard could just imagine the reaction when the long-haired man in tattered jeans and a food-stained T-shirt turned up at the front door.