F Paul Wilson - Sims 05 (5 page)

 
          
NEWARK
,
NJ

 
          
“Get
ready,” Zero murmured from the darkness behind her as the school bus pulled to
a stop before the sim crib.

 
          
Romy
raised her binoculars and focused on the front door. Patrick had parked the van
in the same spot as last night. He sat beside her behind the wheel, training
his own set of glasses on the door, and she knew Zero had his pair aimed
between them. They had to know whether or not Tome got off the bus, and all
agreed that three sets of eyes were better than one.

 
          
Romy
licked her lips. Her fingers felt slick against the black matte finish of the
binocular barrels. This was the night when it all could come together, when all
her years of effort, when everything she’d worked for would come to fruition…

 
          
Or
go up in smoke.

 
          
She
took a breath. No smoke. This was going to work.

 
          
No
movement yet. She noticed Patrick lowering his glasses.

 
          
He
let out a long, slow breath, as if he’d been holding it. “What if somebody
spots him and gets suspicious?” he said.

 
          
“No
reason they should,” Zero said. “Tome’s dressed just like the other sims. And
besides, the surveillance teams are looking for a pregnant female.”

 
          
“But
what about their warden or whatever you call the guy inside—what if he counts
one extra and turns him over to the guys outside. I saw how they cut up those
other
sims
.”

 
          
Romy
stared at Patrick. Was that a catch in his voice? He was really worried—not
about blowing their chance to find Meerm, but about Tome being hurt. Same as
last night when he’d refused to let Tome near the building.

 
          
She
felt a burst of warmth for him. What a change from the hard case she’d met just
a few months ago. She laid a gentle hand on his arm.

 
          
“We
won’t let anything happen to Tome. You know that.”

 
          
“Better
not,” he said, staring straight ahead. “He’s my roomie, you know.”

 
          
“I
know. And I—”

 
          
“There
they are,” Zero said and the three of them trained their glasses on the small
patch of sidewalk between the bus and the front door.

 
          
Romy
wished there were
more light
as the sims trooped out
in ones and pairs. She fine-tuned the focus on her binocs, training her gaze on
their faces. Since they all were dressed in identical coveralls, only the faces
would tell. She watched one after another swim through her field of vision in a
seemingly endless stream, and then suddenly the parade was over.

 
          
“I
didn’t see him,” Romy said.

 
          
Neither had Zero or Patrick.

 
          
“Do
you think this means what it’s supposed to mean?” Patrick whispered.

 
          
Romy felt her heart rate kick up.
The plan was for Tome to
enter the sim dorm if he hadn’t learned Meerm’s whereabouts by the time the bus
arrived. If he’d been successful, he was to hide on the bus until the driver
parked it down the street, then sneak out and call for pick-up.

 
          
“I
hope so,” she said.

 
          
Patrick
reached for the ignition but Zero stopped him.

 
          
“Wait
till we hear from him. We’re much less conspicuous sitting still.”

 
          
And
so they waited.
And waited.

 
          
“Why
doesn’t he call?” Patrick said, tapping the steering wheel none too gently.
“Something’s wrong.”

 
          
Romy
prayed not.

 
          
Tome
lost.

 
          
Turn
round and round in dark but not know where is.

 
          
Tome bad sim.
Old fool sim. Not
listen
Mist Sulliman. Not do what told.
Mist Sulliman say call but
Tome not.
Fool Tome wait driver go, then open bus window. Climb through,
drop ground.
Tome not call like Mist Sulliman say
.
Fool Tome go find Meerm self. Show Mist Sulliman can find. Bring back Meerm.
Make Mist Sulliman proud.

 
          
Tome
do bad thing. Wait by bus. See no car. Run cross street. Hide shadow. Try
remember
what Beece say. Wish Beece knew better where Meerm
hide. Only know, “Left side home building. Many, many turn go see Mickey-D gold
arch light over fence. Look black metal door.
Red writing
door.
Meerm inside.”

 
          
Tome go, make many many turn.
No see Mickey-D. No see black
metal door. Now Tome lost in ver dark place.

 
          
Tome
keep walk. Hear car noise. Many
car
. See light. Go to
and find big street.
Many light and car.
And there Mickey-D.
Tome find
! Tome
not bad sim! Not fool!

 
          
But
where steel door? Tome look-look but no see door, no red writing. Tome fail.
Ver sad again.
Pull out phone, remember what Mist Sulliman
say: First press red button, wait for beep, then press 9
button
,
then press green button.

 
          
Tome
hope Mist Sulliman not mad and say no more friend with Tome.
That
make
Tome ver sad.

 
          
“Yes!”
Patrick cried as his PCA chirped.

 
          
Romy
watched him jab theSEND button and crush the phone against his ear. He’d been
sitting there with it clutched in his hand, thumb poised over the buttons like
a mad bomber with a detonator.

 
          
“Tome!”
he cried. “You’re all right?” He turned and nodded to Romy and Zero.

 
          
Romy
let out a sigh of relief. The last twenty-five minutes had been hell.

 
          
“No-no,”
Patrick was saying. “That’s all right. As long as you’re okay, it doesn’t
matter. Listen, you stay there but keep out of sight. We’ll come by and get
you.” He closed the PCA and started the van.

 
          
“What
happened?” Zero said.

 
          
“He
thought he could find Meerm himself.”

 
          
“Oh, God!”
Romy said.

 
          
“I
know, I know, it was foolish. But it’s okay. We’re picking him up at the
McDonald’s we passed back there on
Springfield Avenue
. Now nobody get on his case, okay? He was
just trying—”

 
          
“But
this means he found out where Meerm is.”

 
          
Patrick
nodded, with no little pride in his grin. “That he did. And if we can decipher
the directions he got, we’ll have Meerm on her way to Dr. Cannon before you
know it.”

 
          
Romy
smiled, sharing his infectious optimism, allowing herself to hope.

 
          
Lister’s
voice grated through the encrypted phone line. “Still no sign of that damned
monkey?”

 
          
Damned
monkey was right.
Double-damned monkey.
Luca leaned
back in his sofa, put his feet up on the old coffee table, and scratched his
throat. His shaver had been a little dull this morning and it had irritated his
skin, but not as much as the events of the past few days were irritating his
gut. How many places could a pregnant sim hide?

 
          
“Not
a trace.”

 
          
Behind
him, in the kitchen, he could hear Maria humming as she cooked up their Saturday
night feast. A spicy aroma wafted around him, making his mouth water.

 
          
“Shit,”
Lister said. “I’m getting lots of questions about all the men we’re tying up.
Let me get this straight: You’ve got five cars and twelve men involved in this
surveillance?”

 
          
“Correct:
four cars stationary, one on patrol, with rotating twelve-hour shifts of six
men each.”

 
          
Suddenly
Maria’s face hovered above him, grinning as she dangled a glistening sliver of
chicken over his lips. He opened his mouth and she dropped it in.
Delicious.
He blew her a kiss and she swayed back to the
kitchen.

 
          
Damn,
he was going to miss her.

 
          
“And
you think that’s the way to go?”

 
          
Luca
chewed and swallowed quickly. “That’s what all our sim experts advise. They say
she’s got to eat, so that means if we don’t catch her wandering around or
trying to sneak back into the sim crib, we’ll find another sim sneaking out to
bring her food.”

 
          
“Makes
sense to me, but upstairs is complaining about the manpower commitment.”

 
          
“It’s
not as if these guys have anything better to keep them busy.”

 
          
“Oh,
but very soon they will. Guillotine is a go.”

 
          
Luca
stiffened.
“When?”

 
          
“Can’t say more now.
Maybe in person.”

 
          
Luca
understood. Even a hard-encrypted phone wasn’t secure enough for a conversation
about Operation Guillotine. Because Guillotine was what SIRG was all about, and
the neck scheduled to be placed under that blade was Aazim Saad’s.

 
          
Al
Qaeda was gone, but its goals and methods lived on in various smaller
offshoots. The most active was the Malaysian Mujahideen led by Aazim Saad.

 
          
One
of his men had ratted out the Omani terrorist kingpin, and his headquarters had
been traced to a rubber plantation in
Borneo
.
Operation Guillotine would drop three commando teams of specially trained mandrilla
sims
into the surrounding jungle and have them raid
the compound, killing anything that moved. All their gear—weapons, clothing,
communications—would be foreign-made to obscure their point of origin. Even if
one were captured alive, it couldn’t give anything away, because it wouldn’t
know anything, and couldn’t tell if it did. The Malaysian Mujahideen would be
wiped out, and no one would know by whom.

 
          
This
had been the Old Man’s dream: an anonymous strike force that could operate with
greater efficiency and ferocity than any human equivalent. All SIRG had needed
was clearance from the Pentagon to proceed. Now they had it. And if Guillotine
was a success, Conrad Landon would be the toast of a very small, very elite
inner circle in the Department of Defense.

 
          
Luca
had seen the mandrillas in training. Their ferocity awed him. They knew no
fear, and gave no quarter. Their downside was the difficulty controlling them,
and stopping them once they got started. Heaven help any innocent bystanders
near the Saad compound.