Little Deadly Things (34 page)

Jagen Cater had been one of the first recipients of the NMech IDD—Internal Dialysis Device. It had been a lifesaver for Cater and for thousands of others who suffered from chronic kidney disease. A signal from an NMech medical equipment datapiller kept the IDD operating properly, or else it would quickly become a clogged roll of inert plastic the approximate size and shape of a cigar. The NMech maintenance signal and redundant safeguards were monitored continuously to ensure Cater’s survival.

They were also monitored by Eva Rozen’s Cerberus program.

NANCY KILEY, PARAGUANÁ WATER PURIFICATION STATION, PARAGUANÁ, VENEZUELA

Five thousand, five hundred twenty-three miles east of Staff Sergeant Mike Imfeld’s United Nations EcoForce recon squad, and 9,889 miles east of Jagen Cater’s tea estate, Nancy Kiley gritted her teeth and left her smartbed’s comfort. Kiley was a good boss. She shared the hardships of her charges, and so she had been taking night shifts, working alongside her subordinates. Just as she fell asleep after a difficult evening, an alarm rang. Cursing, she donned a sun-proof and insect-repellant work suit. Kiley exited her small cabin at El Cerro Rojo—“The Red Hill”—a desalinization plant on Venezuela’s Paraguanà Peninsula.

The private cabin was one of the project manager’s few perquisites at the desal complex. Scant compensation, she thought, for the time she spent in a landscape slightly less hospitable than the living conditions she imagined a planetologist would find on Mars. Would safety protocols on the Red Planet include thrice-daily examinations of clothing, linens, and shoes for biting creatures? Scorpions, Kaboura flies, and poison dart frogs were among the nasty critters that preferred the cool, dark comfort of Nancy’s clothing and shoes. One learned to check, to stay alert.

Mother Nature’s a bitch,
Kiley thought, not for the first time, scratching at one of the many patches of dry skin that flaked and cracked in the peninsula’s arid climate.

Her imprecations were out of character for the cheerful and charismatic woman who inspired loyalty among her staff. She relied on kind words and praise and sprinkled them like the gentle rains that once fell on South American’s coastline. But the rains had dried up and her mood had soured. A torrent of maledictions had replaced her upbeat patter. She damned the sun that beat mercilessly on her head, cursed the sand and pebbles that ground under her boots and made walking a chore, and swore at each tormenting species of insects with which she was forced to share the desiccated habitat.

Kiley’s compact body cast a short shadow in the midmorning sun. She clenched her square jaw in frustration at what was becoming a hopeless assignment. She squinted despite vision enhancements that included a photosensitive nictating membrane, a third eyelid—biological sunglasses for her ice-blue eyes.

Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink.
Coleridge’s couplet was Kiley’s mantra. She repeated it while hurrying to the desal plant’s command center.
What’s today’s screw-up?
she wondered as she subvocalized a heads-up display.
I’ll be dipped in turtle dung before I have another surprise like yesterday.

Twenty-four hours earlier, her staff panicked when the nano-controlled biocide levels at the plant dipped unexpectedly. The biocides killed off bacterial contaminants in Cerro Rojo’s water. Then, as now, Kiley scrambled out of her slumber to attend to the malfunction. As she watched, the ’cides returned to their normal levels for reasons that were inexplicable. An hour later, when her heart had stopped racing and she was drifting back into sleep, a second emergency summoned her from Morpheus’ arms. The desal filters had quit. Electric currents that animated the ion transfer mechanism still flowed, but it was as if the system had stopped listening to its programming. The temporary halt in production scared the bejeezus out of Kiley and her staff. Had it lasted much longer, the 30 million people in the arid cities and hills of northern Venezuela and the island nations of the Caribbean would get thirsty. And thirsty people become angry people—desperate and prone to violence.

Kiley cursed the woman who coaxed her to this hellhole from the security of a government job with National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
I don’t know who’s the bigger bitch,
Kiley thought,
Mother-freakin’-Nature, or Eva-freakin’-Rozen.

One year earlier, NMech’s Chief Executive Officer linked to Kiley in an abrupt attempt to prise her away from NOAA to become the Chief of Operations for the Cerro Rojo desalinization plant. An installation as complex as Cerro Rojo requires the steady hand of a manager who possesses a thorough understanding of the science behind the miracle.

She had turned Eva Rozen down. “I’m not interested in private industry,” Kiley had said, “I do good work here at NOAA.”

“You like petty people and petty science?” Eva had shot back.

Kiley shrugged. The gesture was invisible. Rozen waited until Kiley broke the silence.

“Look, I’ve been in government service for 18 years. Another 7 years and I can retire. NOAA may not be as exciting as your life, but I’ll have a nice pension and the time to enjoy it.”

“So it’s money?”

“Are you kidding? Government work and money do not a partnership make. No, I get to do good science. That’s the key, Ms. Rozen—science.”

“It’s
Dr
. Rozen. Chemistry and computer science. Harvard.”

“Well, Dr. Rozen, I have my science and a secure position. Why do I need your little startup?”

“Little startup? Any idea how much NMech is worth?”

“Ms.—excuse me—Dr. Rozen, I don’t follow financial reporting. So, no, I don’t know. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t see what you can offer that I’d want, and I have some petty science waiting for me.”

Eva simply stated a figure before Kiley could end the link. The number was an attention-grabbing number, a round number, a digit followed by zeros, as many zeros as there were digits in Kiley’s current salary. When the scientist hesitated, Eva lowered the figure. A second reduction, and Kiley capitulated. In the face of Eva’s irresistible force, there were no immovable objects.

A year later, the sugar plum fairies of fame and fortune no longer danced in Kiley’s head. This morning’s disaster? The desal filters had failed entirely. Not one drop of water was being generated. No one could find an explanation for today’s outage, nor determine when the filters might go back on line. This morning, a forlorn Kiley missed her former life in government service, with its scheming competitiveness, its venality—and its boring safety.

From 2,240 miles north, Eva Rozen observed Dr. Kiley’s frustrations. She smiled without mirth and entered the results of her observations into the Cerberus program.

___________________________________________

UNQUIET PHENOMENA

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2045

W
hile Marta prayed for the Rockford victims, Eva paced in her office. She was restless. Her forearm itched maddeningly and she scratched it until the skin bled. The rhythmic hiss of her pant legs rubbing together as she walked was a whispering voice that further agitated her. Ssst-ssst. Ssst-ssst.
Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?

It was impossible to concentrate. The din from the Table of Clamorous Voices overwhelmed her. The cacophonous shrieks and moans and cries, the accusations and taunts battered her sanity like a tidal wave falling on a seaside village.

Eva struggled to review the past forty-eight hours. An investigation of the explosion was in full swing and NMech’s records had been subpoenaed. The company was ‘a party of interest’ in the search for a cause of the blast. She’d instructed corporate counsel to cooperate. But NMech’s many layers of security slowed the company’s response which created the appearance that NMech was interfering with the investigation.

What to do about Marta and Jim? They suspected her, too. After the blast, Marta spoke of healing and her role as a bohique—
voodoo doctor is more like it,
Eva thought—but now Marta refused to talk or even make eye contact with Eva. She’d been cool and distant for the last year, blaming her for Dana’s growing pains. Marta had seen to it that Dana spent little time around her, a circumstance Eva found surprisingly distressing.

Now this. Was Marta a threat, a neutral, or an irritating ally? Marta’s support was unlikely, her opposition uncertain. Jim was a wild card. She had to be careful around him. She thought he was her friend, but he’d spurned her. Granted, she’d been acting a bit out of character, but everyone had ups and downs, didn’t they? And the boy, Dana—what could he do?
Plenty,
she thought.
I know how well he jacks and ghosts. He’s like a kid brother, but now he’s under his mother’s control. Damn her interference!
She’d planned to bring Dana into an executive role at NMech. Together, they’d be unstoppable. But now the boy could be the biggest problem.

She shook her head to clear that thought.
I just have to finesse this, keep them all preoccupied until the investigation blows over. Just a couple weeks at the most.

She continued pacing. Every sound in her office was a chorus of voices, mocking her.
Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?

Her desk was as bare as her thoughts, with only a white coffee flask and mug. She nudged these items into place—was that the third time?—to center them precisely along the upper edge of her desk. The walls and carpet were set to a milky white and gave the impression of congealed pabulum.

Coffee. She remembered the coffee. Even though the addition of neurochemicals enabled her to think faster, to work faster, to complete the bid, she’d had no chance.
The damned bid was rigged! Now they all want to blame me for the explosion? Nobody insults me without paying a price.

She brewed a cup, adding carefully measured drops of the neuroactive concoction, and gulped it down. She was rewarded with a paralyzing stomach cramp and bit back tears. Finally, her heartbeat slowed and became regular. Her skin flushed. She could feel her thoughts reorganize. She was pacing faster now, nearly running. Her arms and legs and hands responded faster than she could ever remember. She felt good.

And the Voices sang in harmony, once again.

What’s the plan? She looked around her office. Her eyes fixed on Gergana’s brooch framed on one wall, a relic from, well, from before. Her attention shifted to a small terrarium on the credenza across from her desk—plants and flowers from around the world that provided medicines and recreational pharmacopeia for synthesis.

A second planter housed a pair of intertwined green and black vines. An ugly and useless gift from Marta. It was supposed to represent anger and grace, qualities that exist in everyone. Marta and her legends. Yocahu and Juricán.
Give me a break. Who the hell does she think she is, preaching about her gods? She’d be nowhere without me. And what did the gods do for her father, rotting in a Mexican jail?

Eva paced. Then an idea struck. Would it work? Could it neutralize Marta and Jim? Yes! She calculated the moves and likely outcomes with the cold precision of a chess master. She stared into the terrarium and saw the vines as lambent branches of a flowchart rather than mere plant matter. The divisions and offshoots became the steps she would need to take. It would be straightforward. She’d jacked deep into the legal system before and she could do it again.

Eva subvocalized and as soon as a heads-up display appeared, she mouthed a few commands and found her target. Perfect. The man was accessible. She had to bring him to Boston, unnoticed. The office was too risky, but her home? Yes.

Leaving no tracks, Eva jacked into several secure databases, starting with a United States Department of Agriculture public information portal in Seattle. She ghosted through a half dozen others, soaring on currents of thought, leapfrogging and crisscrossing the country and leaving too many trails to follow.

What if Marta didn’t cooperate? That was possible. Oh-so-holy Marta, as if her own foibles made her a saint.
If she doesn’t cooperate, then I’ll run the company myself and Dana gets a shot at management sooner than I expected. I’ll give Jim a second chance. He was a good friend. Maybe things will turn out differently this time...

Eva paced and scratched. What if the investigation into NMech led to Cerberus? Impossible. No one would find a link between Rockford and Cerberus because there was none. And Cerberus was secure. In the meantime, she would prepare for a special guest. She rubbed at the raw skin on her forearm. The damned itching wouldn’t stop.
Never mind, I have work to do, accounts to settle.