The Nexus (9 page)

She’d have to get into the office after hours.  Her original plan had been to hide until closing time, then have the place to herself.  It wouldn’t be the first time she’d used that method.  But there was no place to hide here—no restrooms, no furniture; just one room with glass partitions.

Jill left the gallery, sat on a bench across from it, and started cooking up a plan B while shoppers buzzed around her.  She made a quick survey.

The Gallery offices were on the second floor.  The book shop next door was three stories high.

She went into the book shop.  It had a nice atmosphere to match its merchandise, tall wooden shelves and reading areas with antique furniture.  A stairway in back led to level two, which was not as busy as level one.  Another stairway led to level three, which was even less busy.  She walked to the back corner—the philosophy and theology section, which was the emptiest area of all.  A door in the corner said “Employees only.”

It was after six o’clock.  Tanaka Brother’s Gallery closed at seven.  The book shop closed at nine.  Jill grabbed a volume off the theology shelf, and found a chair by the window across the room.  She appeared to be engrossed in a massive, centuries-old religious exposition.  She was actually engrossed in other things.  To one side she could see out onto the mall walkway.  Since the book shop was at an angle compared to the gallery, she could see the front door of the gallery as well.  To the other side she could see the employee door across the room.

The evening grew dark outside as she waited.

At seven minutes past seven, she saw Mr. Tanaka closing up his gallery for the night.  His security guard left.

At a quarter past seven, a middle-aged woman in spectacles emerged from the employee door and went downstairs.

At two minutes before eight o’clock, Mr. Tanaka left his gallery.

The middle-aged woman hadn’t come back.

Jill set the book aside and approached the employee door.  There were no customers in sight.  She knocked.  No one answered.  She knocked again.  No one answered.

Jill went through the door.

She was in a small office in the back of the building.  It had a window to one side—a window that overlooked the rooftop of Tanaka Brothers’ Gallery next door.

A minute later she was on the gallery roof.  The mall below was brightly lit and crowded; the rooftop was silent and dark.

She went to the back edge of the roof.  Metal rungs built into the wall made a ladder leading down to the alley behind the gallery.  A window in the second story office was within reach of the ladder.  The lock on the window would have been easy to jiggle open if she hadn’t been doing it leaning out from a ladder.  She still managed.

Now she was in the office.  It was small and cramped.  The computer glowed on the desk.  The monitor played a slideshow of the Tanaka Brothers’ photos.  How narcissistic.

Just about every errander had basic hacking skills.  It took only a few moments to bypass the computer’s security login; a few more moments to locate the document file called HPCAMVEN; a few more moments to scribble its contents—a couple dozen names and addresses from Earth—into Sketch’s notepad; a few more moments to cover any sign that the file had ever been opened.

By the time the spectacled woman was wondering who had opened her office window, Jill was on her skybike a half a mile away from the Aurora Bridge Mall.

SKETCH’S address was a high rise suite up the river from the mall.  It wasn’t really his address, Jill was sure; it was just a place he’d picked to conduct tonight’s business.  Jill parked on the street a block away from the tall, round building and walked toward it.  Behind one of those glowing windows on the twenty-third floor, he was waiting for her.

She paused half a block away from the high rise.

The thing about doing a job was that once it started you didn’t usually have time to think about anything except the job itself.  It was rare when you got a breather, had a little time for your mind to wander.

Like right now.

The thought had been pushing its way further and further to the front of her mind.

Maybe she should have accepted Holiday’s offer.

In the notepad in her backpack was the list.  She’d stolen it from people she didn’t know.  She was bringing it to a man she didn’t know, who wanted it for reasons she didn’t know.

She’d called Holiday’s offer ridiculous.  And it was.

More ridiculous than being a pawn for criminals who couldn’t care less whether you live or die once they’ve done with you?

It was a long time before Jill started walking again.  And when she did, it was away from the high rise.

TWO hours later she was at a classy hotel near the west rim.  Off the lobby was a row of empty payphone cubicles.  She took out a screwdriver, opened the inner workings of one of the phones, and made some personal modifications including the addition of a device she’d brought along.  Then she dialed.

A few seconds of canned music played on the other end of the line.  Then:

“Anterran Governmental Complex.  How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to a jail warden, please.”

“I’m transferring you now.”

Canned music filled the line for several moments.

“Warden Bollis.”

Time for one of Jill’s best impersonations.  “Hello, I’m calling with the
Anterran Daily Recorder
, regarding the escaped prisoner.”

An uncomfortable grunt.  “I’m sorry, I don’t have time—”

“It will only take a moment, sir.”

“They told us not to talk to the press.”

“I understand.  In that case, maybe you could transfer me to the personnel who arrested her in the first place?”

“Look, it wasn’t my people who let that girl escape!  Make sure you write that in your story.”

“Of course.  In your view, Mr. Bollis, who
was
responsible for her escape?”

“They sent someone down to move her for questioning.  That’s when she made her getaway.”

“
Who
sent someone down to move her for questioning?”

“No idea.  Our records just say ‘special branch’—that means we’re not supposed to know.”

“I understand.  But someone acted on behalf of the special branch to put the prisoner in your care?”

“Sure, that would be Janice Moeller.”

“Great.  May I speak with her?”

The warden was only too happy to transfer the call away.

More canned music.  Jill held her breath.  It was unlikely that this Janice would still be at work, but there was always a chance...

“Janice Moeller speaking.”

“I need to speak with Director Holiday.”

“I’m...afraid I don’t know who that is.”

“I’m afraid you do.  Put him on, please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not aware of any Holiday.”

“Maybe this will jar your memory:  He’s the one who had you put me in jail—until I escaped.  I’m guessing he’ll be a little upset when he finds out you hung up on me instead of putting me through to him.”

Janice cleared her throat.  “Wh-who’s calling, please?”

“Jill Branch.”

Silence for a long moment.  “I see.  I’ll find out if Director Holiday is available.”

“If he’s not on in one minute I’m hanging up.”

It took only a few seconds.  Holiday didn’t bother with a greeting.  “If you’re calling to rub it in, don’t expect me to be rapt with attention.”

“I’m calling to say I’ve changed my mind.”

“Oh?  You’re coming back to jail?”

“I want to accept your offer.”

He paused before replying:  “You’re assuming our offer still stands after your little escapade.”

It wasn’t all that surprising that he was being stand-offish.  “My record wasn’t exactly squeaky-clean before that, but you wanted me then.”

“And since that time you’ve done nothing whatsoever to indicate that you’re interested in joining us.  Just the opposite, in fact.”

“Other than calling you right now.”

“For what purpose?  Who’s to say why you’ve really decided to give us jingle in the middle of the night?”

“Why else would I risk making a call and being traced?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not blocking our trace, Jillian.”

“Trying to, anyway.  But don’t pretend your tracers are not doing everything in their power.”

“They are, of course.  Unfortunately it will still take a few more minutes.”

“I’ll take that to mean about thirty seconds.”

“Take it however you want.  The point is, we would be foolish to extend our offer to you any longer.”

“You wanted me because I’m good at what I do.  All I did by breaking out of jail was prove it.”

“I’m afraid that is
not
all you did by breaking out of jail.”

“So I missed my chance?”

Holiday hesitated only a moment.  “All right, Jillian.  You want to join us, tell us face to face.”

“Where can I meet you?”

“Right here at our headquarters, of course.”

What was he playing at?  “How am I supposed to get there?”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt you’ll find a way.”

“You’re talking about breaking into a secure section of GoCom.”

Holiday sniffed.  “You seemed to have no trouble breaking out of it.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say it was no trouble.”

“Take it or leave it, Jillian.  If you’d like us to extend our offer one last time, demonstrate your worth one last time.  It’s only reasonable.”

She couldn’t deny it.

“Oh, and Jillian?  About the trace—I was a bit conservative in my estimation.  You’ve only got a few more seconds.”

She’d hung up before he finished saying it.

IN his office overlooking HQ, Giles Holiday smiled to himself as he hung up the phone.

Corey had been talking with the director when the call came.  “It was her, wasn’t it?”

Holiday nodded.

“You traced the call?”

“She scrambled it.”

Corey grimaced.  “Sherlock...?”

The director shook his head.  “He hasn’t spotted her.  No VOFARE recognition as of yet.”

“You’re not seriously giving her another chance?”

“Isn’t that what we do, Corey—Give people another chance?”

“She already had an opportunity.”

“And she turned it down at first, yes.  Remind you of anyone in particular?”

Corey looked away.  “I didn’t turn down your offer, exactly.  I just needed some time to think.”

“And so did Jillian, apparently.”

“She broke out of jail!”

“And that means we shouldn’t allow her to become one of us?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“Should it?  More than any other crime she’s already committed?...More than any other crime you’ve committed in your past?”

“
I’ve
committed?”

Holiday shrugged.  “You weren’t exactly a saint yourself when we took you on.”

“I didn’t break out of jail to get away from you.”

“A dangerous line of thinking, Corey, concentrating on what you
didn’t
do.  There’s always something someone else has done that we haven’t done, isn’t there?  Helps the ego immensely to focus on those things, doesn’t it?”

Corey was indignant, and didn’t mind showing it.  “So we’ll just take anyone, no matter what?”

“Anyone who willingly joins our cause, yes.  You disagree?”

“It seems like we have to have
some
standards.”

“Such as?”  Holiday stood behind his desk and looked Corey in the eye.  “How many crimes must one commit before one is disqualified?  Which sort of crimes?  How many opportunities must one receive before it’s too late?  I suppose you have a system in mind?  A system that lets you in but not Jillian, or I miss my guess.”

Corey gritted his teeth.  “No.  I don’t have a system in mind.  But breaking out of jail after our offer has been extended...if that doesn’t disqualify someone, then what does?”

“How about
letting
someone break out of jail, due to personal negligence?” Holiday suggested.

Corey swallowed.  “Don’t I feel lousy enough about that already?”

“If you still think you deserve to be here more than someone else, no; you don’t feel nearly lousy enough.”

Corey didn’t reply.

Holiday softened a bit.  “I know what you’re feeling, Corey.  You’re angry at the way she used you.  I don’t blame you.  But if you’re trying to make yourself feel better by comparing yourself favorably to her, don’t.”

“I’ll make myself feel better,” Corey said under his breath, “when I find her and get her back behind bars.”

MARTIN P. Daniels awoke to the sound of the living room window shattering downstairs—or rather, he awoke to the sound of his wife shrieking, and then she told him the living room window had shattered downstairs.  She called the cops while he got his gun and tiptoed downstairs, trembling in his paisley bathrobe.