Kaleidocide (38 page)

“Angelee,” I said tenderly as I moved to the couch next to her, and put my arms around her. She snuggled tightly against me, and the crying became less. “It's going to be okay. The hospital here is really good. Just say the name to the car and it will show you how to get there. It's only about fifteen minutes away.” Then I had a stroke of genius and said that I couldn't go with her, but would pray for her. At that she stopped crying completely, though she was still obviously troubled.

“I should have watched him more closely,” she said, “or not let him near the pool at all, because he's been acting up, worse than I've ever seen him.” She paused, as if debating whether to say the next part. “I think he got really excited when you were with us on Saturday, and you watched the movie with us. He always did that with his dad, and he hasn't been able to for a year. But then you were gone all day yesterday. It's like he got his hopes up, and then was really angry and disappointed when you weren't there. So he's been very disappointed, and even maybe a little … what would you call it … self-destructive?”

“You think he was trying to hurt himself?” I asked.

“I don't know, maybe deep down. The heart is like a deep river, my husband always used to say.”

“Well, I'll try to be there more for him,” I said, not knowing what else to say at this time. And speaking of hearts, I could almost feel hers racing against my side when I said it. So I gently moved her away a little with my hands, and added, “But for that to happen, he will have to get better. So I need you to take him to the hospital. And when you do, make sure you don't say anything about me or this place, okay? You may not have to give them an address if you refuse, but if you have to, you can give them the address of the shelter you were at, and we'll take care of any bills later. Do you understand?”

She nodded, but I asked her to repeat the instructions for me, in case she was in shock to some degree and was not competent to pull this off. She did repeat them, and seemed fine, so I went back down to the floor and looked at the boy carefully again, having Vera repeat her scan with the medmat to make sure we weren't missing anything. We weren't, so I said I would carry the boy to the car and turn on its medical system, explaining to Angelee that the car could do the same thing that Vera did, and monitor him as he lay on the seat. There was also a fully equipped treatment kit built into the car. This was standard equipment on all BASS vehicles now, after I had almost died while riding in an aero a year before. One of the good things that had come out of that grueling experience was that I realized it would be helpful for our peacers to have such a system in the vehicles as a “first response,” for when we or others were injured in similar incidents.

As I was about to carry the boy out, Angelee realized that she was still in Tara's white swimsuit, and needed to change before she could make the drive to the hospital. She had been too distracted by the crisis to be self-conscious about her attire, and I felt proud of the fact that I hadn't noticed it either. But then the feeling of pride transitioned to shame when she walked away from me toward her room, and I noticed that the bottom piece of the suit was askew from jumping in the pool and rescuing Chris, and because it was a little big on her to begin with. I did look away eventually, telling myself I wasn't such a bad guy and hearing the words “special hell” echo again in my mind.

I gave her a minute or so, then took the boy to the car and situated him in it. When she came jogging out of the house, I showed her how to monitor his breathing and heart rate, and what to do if either failed. I told her as a last resort she could use the car's phone to call emergency services, because the boy's life was more important than the possibility of having to change my protection plan. I also told her that she could call me from the car if she had to tell me anything—like if the worst happened—but that she should try to avoid that if possible. She gave me a big hug and thanked me for saving his life as well as hers, and I cautioned her about the fact that Chris wasn't better yet. As she drove away, I wondered what would happen if he died at the hospital (I had heard of such near-drowning fatalities), or if he was permanently brain-damaged, or if he ended up in a coma for a long time.

But then I remembered that I had to get back into my room and walk the double through the press conference for Tara's promotion. I had actually forgotten about it during the crisis with Chris, and wondered how the double had managed his walking tour of the castle without me.
I'm sure it wasn't difficult,
I thought.

When I sat back down in my chair, I noticed the screen with Jon's view on it was blank. I tried a few different things, like turning it off and on again, and speaking to him in case the audio was still on, but to no avail. I also tried to access the net room in my office, but it was turned off, and I knew that if Tara had blocked it with her codes, it would take me a while to override them. So I called Terrey.

“Where have you been?” my friend said before I could get a word out. “We've stayed out of your office like you asked, but I didn't know you were going to be in there this long. It's almost time for the press conference.”

“I had a problem here with my … helper.”

“What kind of problem? She wasn't turned, was she?”

“No, she's not a traitor,” I said, wondering how Terrey knew my helper was a woman. I hadn't told him that, as far as I knew. “It was something else. It's okay. But I'm trying to link with the double, and I can't.”

“What?” he said, suddenly as panicked as a cool customer like him could be. “I thought you were riding with him. He never came out of the office.”

I felt a flash of panic then, too—not because Jon's life could be in danger, but because my plan to finally break up with Tara could be in jeopardy. Terrey was thinking the former, of course, so he immediately brought Min and San onto the line and asked them what they knew from their post outside my office. Both of them said that neither the double nor Tara had come out of it yet, and San added that she had been suspicious of the fact that Tara's clothes were all gray, and that could be one of the colors in the kaleidocide. While she was saying this, I opened a link to Min on my second screen, and now I was looking through his eyes at the Japanese girl.

“But Michael said that he trusts her,” Terrey said, and then added to me, “Completely, I think you said.” When I said yes, he asked, “Are there any other exits from the office?”

“Not from the office,” I said. “But there's one in the adjoining apartment.” Each of the top BASS executives had a small living space attached to our offices, so we could stay the night if necessary, or put up guests, or even take a quick nap in the nice queen bed …

“Oh, no,” I said aloud, my panic increasing from a flash to a flood.

“Get ready to break down the door, Min,” Terrey said, obviously interpreting my exclamation to mean the double was in mortal danger.

“No, wait,” I said. “Just knock on the door, and call for them first. And send the triplet down to the other door to knock on that one.”

They did, and there was no response. I could hear Terrey asking the security techs he was with to punch in to the surveillance systems, and I could see Min moving back a step to get ready to kick the door down with one of his augmented legs, which would be child's play for the big man.

But then, before Min could do his Bruce Lee imitation, we all heard a voice coming from somewhere inside, probably from the doorway between the office and the apartment.

“Hold on a sec,” it said, and it was my voice, meaning Jon was talking. “Just a second.”

“Are you in danger, sir?” Min asked in an amplified voice that made me put my hand up to my ear.

“No, no,” the voice from inside replied, and I could almost see the double and Tara snickering to each other, because by now I knew what was going on, and I was getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sure enough, the double soon opened the door, his cotton shirt noticeably wrinkled, as if it had been balled up and thrown to the ground, then hurriedly put on again. Tara wriggled past him and through the door, straightening her suit and her hair at the same time, as only women can do.

“You'll be there,” the double said to her. “At the press conference?”

“I'll be there,” she said, somewhat reluctantly.

“Thank you,” he said, more than somewhat relieved, then repeated it after her as she walked away down the hall.

“Tell Jon to turn on my link to him, and stay in the office.” I said this to the open line, and Min complied. “Then leave us alone for a few minutes. We'll come out in time for the conference.”

Suddenly my screen returned to the double's view, as he leaned against my desk and looked down at his hands, which were now clenched together. I was about to ask him what happened, but then what I suspected was confirmed as he looked up and noticed that the door to the apartment was still open. Through the doorway and a short hallway I could see the bed in the apartment, with its sheets and covers tossed every which way. Jon groaned regretfully, but not nearly enough, and stepped quickly through the door and the hallway, turning off the light in the bathroom on the way, and started to fix the rumpled bedclothes.

“Sorry for the mess,” he muttered, as if that was the biggest problem here.

“Leave it,” I said, and he stood up straight, gathering from my tone that this would not be a pleasant conversation. “Go back into my office, right now.” He did as he was told, and not wanting to be in his head any more than I had wanted to be in that room, I tried to switch my view to the net room in the office. I also preferred to see his face, and vice versa. But the locks were still in place, so I settled for staying in his head and hoping that whatever was wrong with it wouldn't rub off on me.

“I'll restrain myself from the three or four lethal options I am considering, for now,” I said. “So you can tell me exactly what happened.”

“You want all the details?” he said with a slight smile, still not grasping the gravity of this situation.
Of course not,
I thought.
It's only grave for me, and maybe for Tara, but not to him. To him, he just hit the jackpot.

“Only the details up to that part,” I said. “And wipe that bloody smirk off your face, or I will.”

“Sorry,” he said, and pursed his lips. “Exactly what happened. Well, after you went offline, I wasn't sure what to do, but I figured you got what you wanted, when Tara agreed to take the job and move on. So I tried to end the meeting. I stood up to see her out and she said, ‘I guess this is good-bye for us,' or something like that. I said ‘I guess,' because I wasn't totally sure what your specific plan was from here, I didn't want to make some kind of dogmatic statement with you gone…”

“Then what?” I said, hurrying him along.

“She met me halfway to the door, and wanted to say a ‘proper good-bye.'” He paused. “When I didn't say anything, she came close and started kissing me. I wasn't sure what to do, you weren't there.”

“Oh, come on, Jon,” I said, my disgust coming out despite my British reserve. “I just broke it off with her, and you didn't know whether to let her put her tongue in your mouth?”

“She was on me so hard, so fast. What could I do?” He said this angrily, like I was actually the villain here, but then changed his tone. “Look, Mr. Ares, a man would have to be gay as hell to say no to that woman. And I figured, what's the harm? I had already done what you wanted me to do.”

“But then you undid it!” I said, and didn't want him to tell the rest of the story, so I told it for him. “Tara mentioned the apartment next door, and that she could block the surveillance.” (Which she had mentioned to me a number of times over the last five years.) “And that she's taken care of the birth control, and swears she'll keep it between us.” (Also things that I'd heard from her.) “And before too long, you weren't thinking with your brain anymore, and you ended up…”

I didn't even want to say it, I was so infuriated—mostly because of the repercussions I would face from this, but probably also because he had done something I had wanted to do so many times.

“Yes,” he said, “but no, I haven't undone anything. Well, I almost did. In the … throes of passion, you might say, I think I did say something about still being in love with her. You know how that is, I'm sure. But afterward I asked her to please go through with the plan—the press conference and all. We didn't have much time to talk about it, because you came back. But she said she would.” He spread his hands and smiled at the screen. “And besides, when this is all over you can tell her it wasn't you and take back anything I said.”

I merely stared at him, speechless and wondering if I could have possibly made a bigger mess of this. It gave new meaning to the saying, “If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.” And then I realized it could get even worse.

“Jon, you have AIMS. What if you gave it to her?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “The triplets said it looked hopeful for me, remember?”

“You'd better hope it is hopeful, or you could end up being charged with murder.”

“You mean
you
?” he said, making my head spin even more. A minute ago he was saying that what he did wouldn't affect me, and now he was implying that it would. I wondered how an otherwise normal and intelligent man could be so confounded in this particular situation, and lacking any sense of personal responsibility. His thinking about the outcome of my plan seemed almost as addled as my thinking when I was making it. Maybe he was merely suffering from an unprecedented rush of adrenaline because of his liaison with a veritable goddess, but there seemed to be something more going on.