TWENTY-TWO

"You should've left me chained."

 

Davy was on his bed in a tee-shirt and pajama bottoms, ignoring a DVD, when his throat tingled and he found himself standing "in the box."

It was late at night and Hyacinth entered without knocking. She held the door for Thug One and Thug Two as they each carried in a large aluminum case. Both of the cases were dented and battered and the olive-drab anodized coating was scratched. They were clearly heavy, for both men leaned to counteract the weight. Clear of the door, they lowered them to the floor as if they were made of glass.

Hyacinth turned off the TV without speaking. She jerked her head toward the door and Thug One and Thug Two left. Davy thought they looked relieved at the dismissal.

"I hope that's not your trousseau," Davy said.

She looked at him in silence for a moment before saying, "It's just a quick delivery. Two quick trips to the embassy in Caracas." She took a handkerchief from her pants pocket and wiped the handles carefully, then polished the top of the case.

Davy looked down at the tips of his own fingers. "What's in them?"

Hyacinth shook her head. "No need for you to know. Just leave them in the bathroom and our contact will collect them."

Davy felt a chill. You knew this time would come. He leaned out of the box to peer at the cases. They were padlocked shut. A large pink Post-it note was stuck to each with the word FIRST on one and LAST on the other. There was a line of lettering on a metallized label and when he squinted he saw lines of Arabic.

"Should I dress? Do I take you to the embassy first?" he asked, testing.

She shook her head. "Not necessary. Just leave them in the bathroom and... come right back." Her eye contact broke.

"Open them," he said.

"Are you deaf?"

"You're not going to open them?"

"Hell, no!"

"Right." He'd gone as far as he could. More specifically, as far as he would. He dropped down onto the floor, cross-legged. "Deliver them yourself."

Hyacinth's hands clenched into fists. "Mr. Simons told you what would happen if you didn't cooperate. Is it time to bring Ms. Johnson over from—" She shut her mouth with a click. "Let me rephrase. Is it time to bring Ms. Johnson up here... one piece at a time?"

It would be so easy to break your neck. Davy visualized the act, jumping behind her, grasping her chin, and jumping sideways without letting go. He felt a stir of arousal. He wanted his hands on her, all right. For what? His stomach heaved but it wasn't the implant.

"Are they on a timer or are you going to radio-detonate them?"

Her posture shifted subtly, less forward, slightly smaller, and she unclenched her hands. "What on earth do you mean?"

He licked his lips. Might as well be as clear as possible. "Well, it's not drugs, not with Colombia next door. That would be like taking sand to the Sahara. It could be money, like I carried for the NSA, but if so, why not show me? Unless you know it's something I won't touch."

Hyacinth waved her hand. "Why would we want to take a bomb into Caracas? That's like your sand and Sahara thing. Plenty of bombs. Fifteen explosions in the last two years."

Davy crossed his legs. "On the streets of Caracas, yes. But inside the security cordon of the U.S. Embassy?"

Hyacinth didn't move for a moment. Then, "Why on earth would we do something like that?"

"Can you say 'regime change?' I don't know if you guys want the oil, or want to keep this administration in office with a timely little foreign adventure, or if you want to give them a reason to go directly after drugs in Colombia or, hell, perhaps it's an excuse to go someplace else. I can't read Arabic. Does anything else in that case point to a particular country? Say, Syria? Iran? For all I know, you guys are heavily invested in the defense industries and just want another war." He steepled his fingers. "Syrian bomb blows up U.S. Embassy in Venezuela. U.S. sends troops? Crashes stock market? Street price of cocaine skyrockets? Maybe you've stockpiled against a shortage."

"That's ridiculous." Her affect was flat, eyes watchful.

"Indeed." Davy's lips went tight. "Which scenario?"

"All of them!" She half-turned to the door. "I'll just go get Ms. Johnson, then? Is that what you want?"

He felt cold inside. "I can do the math. Ms. Johnson dies. Perhaps I die, too. But how many people die in the explosion? How many die in the subsequent military actions?"

"It's not a bomb, so none of that will happen. Except Ms. Johnson will die and you'll wish you'd never been born."

He watched her, his tongue on his lips. The last time they'd talked about Caracas, the cameras and microphones had been disconnected. And she'd just sent the two Thugs out, as well, as if they weren't to hear this conversation. So the cameras are probably off now.

He said, "When you're lying in the dark, trying to get to sleep, do they visit you? The people you've killed and hurt?"

She wrinkled her nose and said, "I sleep like a baby."

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "With colic?"

She turned toward the door. "I'll be back with some part of Ms. Johnson."

Davy tilted his head forward and narrowed his eyes. "I don't think so."

His knee struck her in the stomach before she'd had time to react to his disappearance from the square. As she doubled over he kneed her once more in the same place and then was back in the box in time to watch her drop to the floor, unable to breathe, her nervous system temporarily overloaded.

He was bent over himself, trying to avoid tossing dinner. He gasped out, "You turned off the cameras, didn't you, dear? Lest you leave any evidence of this plot." He jumped again, took her by the collar, and jumped back into the square. Each excursion out of the square hit him with a jolt.

Hyacinth thrashed, striking out with her elbow, but he avoided it easily. She was making little half-choking, half-gasping noises, still unable to draw a breath. Davy switched his grasp to her arms, lifted them over her head, then lowered them. The first gasping intake of air rushed through her vocal chords in a protracted moan. To Davy it sounded like a caricature of sexual pleasure.

You're sick, kiddo.

"You should've left me chained," he said.

He grabbed her shirt collar again, and jumped her to the midnight darkness of the pit, fifty feet above the water, and released her. Unlike times past, he was unable to stay, to see or, in this case, hear her impact the surface. He'd taken too long.

He doubled over, back in the square, first vomiting, then coughing, then vomiting again. A part of him watched, detached. Been here, done this. He wondered if Hyacinth was too weak to make it to the shore of the island.

The smell and sight of his earlier night's dinner kept him gagging. He turned away from the lumpy puddle and drew deep breaths though his mouth. His throat burned. I am so tired of this. He eyed the two cases, halfway to the door, and wondered what would happen if he threw them against the wall.

How long before they check on Hyacinth? And what could he do with the period of unobserved time?

He thought about moving the cases to the island in the pit. Make them her problem but, for all he knew, they'd already put them on a timer. He looked at the Post-it notes again. Why was it important to take one before the other?

He presumed both contained explosives. Perhaps the second one contained the detonation device.

But why would it matter?

He thought about knocking the locks off and opening them. What if they've boobytrapped them? What if opening them set them off?

From the size of the things, and their apparent weight, he felt sure they didn't expect him to carry both cases at once. So, they wanted to make sure one was in place before the other got there. Again, why?

The answer chilled him.

Because it's designed to go off once it's been moved?

He shook his head. If they did that, how could they re-use him?

Maybe they've decided they don't want to re-use him. Maybe their concern is, how can they let me live, if I know who arranged for the bomb to be put there in the first place?

That had to be it. How could they possibly risk his revealing the guilty? It would undo anything they hoped to accomplish.

So, move one case, then, when the second one was moved, it would go off, blowing the first case in sympathetic detonation. And, incidentally, silencing Davy. At ground zero, there probably wouldn't be much left of him.

And what would set it off?

Obviously movement wasn't the thing. Thug One had brought it in, after all. What about some sort of GPS receiver? Perhaps it was programmed to go off when it found itself in the right location?

He thought about that and rejected it. He'd used GPS receivers and it usually took them some time to reacquire enough satellites to determine position after he jumped. If they were counting on GPS, he'd be long gone before the detonation and their delivery order wouldn't matter.

He thought about the embassy. There'd been a lot of concrete in its construction and, though the radio keys for the implant had reached within, Davy doubted they could count on getting any satellite signal into the middle of the building.

So maybe it detonates from the absence of a signal?

After all, this was how they controlled Davy. But it couldn't be the same signal, otherwise they couldn't count on him getting it to its destination. They'd need to be transmitting the keys in Caracas for him to jump there. If they used the same signal, the second case wouldn't detonate until they turned it off. Calls for too much coordination. Far simpler this other way.

They were, he decided, transmitting a simple signal here, at the house, and the minute the detonator in the second case stopped receiving it, boom.

You're going to feel really stupid when it turns out to be fresh shirts for the Ambassador.

He didn't think he could stand another kick from the implant so he didn't leave the square to get the cases. Instead, he twinned himself, like in the bathtub, both jumping to the cases, yet staying behind.

It's a gate, really, between two places. I'm just a Davy-shaped hole in the universe. And a Davy-shaped hole that leaked even weak radio signals, keeping his implant happy. He picked up the cases, one at a time, untwinned, and set them down in the square.

He looked at the door, at the two-way mirror, and back at the cases. Better not wait too long.

He picked up the first case and twinned to the beach in Australia, the deserted stretch on the Queensland coast, where the dry sand met the wet.

His vision was distorted, the bedroom overlaid on the sundrenched beach, but the beach was so bright the fluorescent lights couldn't compete. The room was a dim ghost overlaid on the sea and sky. The light hurt his eyes, but, as he turned slowly in place, he couldn't see anybody. He wasn't surprised—the nearest road was miles away. He'd gotten there originally by teleporting in jumps down the coastline. He scanned the horizon. There was a distant triangle of sail but it was far enough away that the hull itself was below the horizon.

He lowered the case but it seemed to float just above the sand. He tried twice more before it settled, not on the oak floor of the room, but on the beach. He let go and untwinned.

There was only one case in the room with him now and a dusting of sand on the parquet.

He twinned again, back to the beach. The case was still there, listing slightly to one side in the sand. He untwinned, back to the room.

He looked at the second case. The word on the Post-it seemed horribly significant: last.

The last thing I do? Last thoughts?

He wanted to see Millie—at least once more. He twinned to the Aerie and looked around, hoping she was there but almost immediately he heard the faint sound of a distant footstep and thought it was them, coming to check on Hyacinth.

He flinched back to the room, took hold of the last case and twinned again, to Queensland, his heart thumping.

He blinked in the bright sunlight, holding his breath.

Well, it hadn't blown up yet, as he stood there in both places. He set it down beside the first case, getting it onto the sand at his first try and removed his hand from the handle. It leaned slightly to once side, contacting the other case and he froze at the slight click of contact.

His chest hurt and he exhaled, relieving the discomfort. With an effort, he took his eyes off of the case, to look around once more, to make sure the beach was still deserted.

It was. Even the distant sail was shrinking, dropping lower behind the horizon. He noted with amusement that the sun shone through him to light the oak floor about his feet.

"All right."

He knelt and put his hand on the oak floor, concentrating on the furniture and the walls and the ceiling of the room. When he untwinned, he did not want to be on the beach. If he was right, the consequences would be... significant.

He found himself wholly back in the room, kneeling on the hard oak parquet.

It was quiet. The distant footstep he'd heard wasn't the first of more. He swallowed and then counted slowly to thirty. When he twinned back to the beach, it was not where he'd left the cases, but by the tree line, well back from the water.

The air was hot and full of chemical-smelling smoke, dust, and falling bits of sand. Where the cases had been now stood a smoking crater thirty feet across and several feet deep. It was slowly filling from the ocean. The trees around him were shredded, the leaves stripped from their limbs and, in some cases, entire trunks felled, broken in splintered fractures a foot off the ground.

Not the ambassador's shirts.

A knock sounded on the door and he flinched, untwinning back into the room. He wrinkled his nose, annoyed with himself. They wouldn't have knocked if the cameras were still on. They would've done something more drastic, like sending him into convulsions. He wished he could lock or block the door. He had a feeling that his "most favored guest" status was about to come to an end. Never mind. As the lady said, if they want to, they can spank me from off-site... with a button.

"Come in."

Thug Two, the hook-nosed redhead, stepped into the room. "Excuse me, Hyacinth, but—" He stared around, looking at Davy, where the cases had been, the puddle of vomit, and then Davy again.

"Where is Miss Pope?"

Davy smiled grimly. "She had to leave." He wondered if he could grab the man while twinning. Regretfully, he decided it would take more practice than he had time for.

He broke Thug Two's magnificent nose with a heel strike and was back in the square, with only the slightest dry heave.

Thug Two staggered back, his hands to his face, blood dripping over his chin. He kept one hand to his nose and groped for the door with the other, his eyes streaming tears.

Davy took a deep breath through his mouth, then grabbed Thug Two and dropped him in the pit.

This took too long. Though he flinched back to the square he lost motor control and dropped to the floor, coughing, vomiting, and defecating, and, though he was back in the square, it didn't stop.

Must've turned the cameras back on, he thought, and passed out.

 

The first thing he noticed was the smell, an awful penetrating mix of odors that was becoming far too familiar. He gagged and the resulting movement tugged at his leg. The manacle was back on his ankle, the padlock firmly latched to the chain.

He wanted to clean off more than anything, to get this taste out of his mouth and the smell off his body, but they'd put the padlock well up the chain, with only a few feet of slack between his leg and the anchor ring. He couldn't reach any of the furniture, much less the bathroom.

This can't be good.

Lawrence Simons came into the room and shut the door behind him.

Definitely not good.

Davy pushed himself up to his hands and knees. His head felt heavy and drooped. He settled back on his shins and braced his hands on his thighs. With a decided effort, he balanced his head upright, eyes level. "Have to come far?"

Simons's nose wrinkled and he took a chair at the edge of the room, as far away as possible. "Far enough."

Davy said, "You should smell it from over here."

Simons's urbanity, his smooth polish, was completely gone. "Where are the cases?"

"Is that your priority? I would've thought you'd be more concerned about Thug Two and Miss Pope." He worked saliva into his mouth. "I don't suppose I could have something to drink, to rinse my mouth out?"

"Answer my question and I'll consider it."

Davy shrugged. The truth wouldn't particularly help Simons and he was too tired to make up lies. "The cases, or what's left of them, are in and about a crater on the northeast coast of Australia. It was right at the water's edge and filling rapidly with seawater when last I saw it."

Almost sadly, Simons said, "You didn't take them to the Embassy?"

"Surely you've checked to see if the building is still standing? But, no, of course I didn't. Someone might have been hurt. May I have that glass of water?"

Simons took a radio from his jacket pocket and raised it to his mouth. "Bring Ms. Johnson over."

Over? Like from another building? "No water?" He's got the cameras and mikes turned off, too, or he wouldn't need to use the radio.

Simons held the radio antenna against his chin. "I'm considering it. Why aren't you dead?"

"Ah." Davy nodded slowly. "Did you want me dead? I was wondering about that. You've gone to an awful lot of trouble, after all, and, while I'm sure the payoff for your little embassy explosion was probably considerable, it seemed a waste of a valuable resource to just flush me in the process. Not to mention, it hurt my feelings."

Simons stared at him, unmoving, unmoved. "We tried, Mr. Rice. We tried. But we came to the conclusion that you aren't really biddable. Not dependably so. We gave Hyacinth one more chance to secure your cooperation but then you dropped her in the salt marsh. That was a mistake. You should've just fucked her and cooperated."

Davy blinked. So that's what she was doing.

"But our analysis is that you're just too rigid. Your self-interest is insufficiently paramount over your value system. An uptight little prig, really."

Davy didn't know whether to be pleased or offended.

Simons continued. "So, why aren't you dead?"

"In the explosion? You should listen to Conley," Davy said. "You're paying him to do all that research, right? Didn't you know about the persistence of the portal?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. "Vaguely. He said something about it."

Davy lied. "I jumped the second case and dropped it and jumped back. There was enough portal latency for your detonator to receive its signal until I was safe back here."

Simons's lips pulled back from his teeth. "Why would you do that? I mean, what made you think to do that?"

"You know my mother died from a terrorist's bomb?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. He nodded warily. "Well, yes, it's in your file. So you knew they were bombs?"

"A deduction." Davy tilted his head to one side. "Why? Did you think Hyacinth told me?"

Simons shook his head. "Not really. Nor Mr. Planck. They are biddable, after all. They are well aware of the consequences. They have self-interest. But something told you?"

"She wouldn't let me see in the cases. They were labeled 'first' and 'last.' She told me to take the cases to Caracas, but not her, and then she hesitated before adding, 'and come right back.' " He spread his hands. "She didn't expect me back."

Simons scowled. "I see. It was badly handled. Where are Ms. Pope and Mr. Planck?"

Davy laughed. "They're at the bottom of a sinkhole. There's plenty of fresh water, but they'll starve in a couple of weeks unless one of them turns on the other. My money is on Hyacinth. She's a survivor. Her self-interest is paramount." He clicked his teeth together. "I wonder if she'll sleep with him first?"

Simons's eyes narrowed. "You'll tell us where, of course?"

Davy shrugged. "Perhaps we can reach an accommodation."

"Involving?"

"Ms. Johnson."

Simons smiled nastily. "Oh, I'm sure we can."

"Let her go and I'll fetch Hyacinth and Thug, uh, Mr. Planck, back for you. You'll be well ahead of the game. No chance of them spilling any of your secrets. Ms. Johnson doesn't know any of your secrets or where she is and she'll be dropped far from here with no way to trace where she's been."

"Oh. You'd drop her somewhere, you say?"

"Of course. I'm afraid I don't trust you to do it."

"I'm hurt." Simons didn't look hurt. He looked... well, cold as ice. Like steel. Anger controlled. Anger harnessed.

Davy spread his hands. "No offense, but it's not my life I'd be gambling, after all."

Simons leaned forward. "But it is, my boy, it is."

Davy shook his head. "No gamble there. I'm not expecting to get out of this alive. You assholes have too much to lose with me out of your control. Far as I'm concerned, I'm already dead." He paused to lock eyes with Simons. "I just don't want Sojee to die, too."

"Before we're done with her, that's exactly what you'll want. There are worse things than death."

Davy sighed. Well, at least he'd ditched the bomb.

There was a knock on the door, and someone said something, but Davy didn't catch it.

Simons said, "Enter."

The door opened, and a man Davy hadn't seen before held the door for one of the maids, who carried a silver tray with a coffee service. There was only one cup. The maid turned abruptly and set the tray down on the table, then asked Simons how he wanted his coffee.

Davy stared at her back. The voice didn't sound right. And she doesn't know how he takes his coffee? Maybe she's new.

Simons kept staring at Davy as he said, "Cream, one sugar."

The door opened again and Thug One pushed Sojee into the room, then jerked her to the right, away from Simons. Though her wrists were cuffed behind her, she looked all right—no overt signs of mistreatment—but her tardive dyskinesia was in full bloom, a chorus of facial twitches, tongue thrusts, and lip smacking.

Davy tried to smile reassuringly at her but it felt weak on his face.

Thug One gripped Sojee's short Afro and wrenched her head back sharply, causing her to cry out, but Davy thought it was more from surprise than pain. Davy readied himself. There was a chance Sojee would survive this. Again, he wished her hands were free.

"Your coffee, sir," said the maid, handing him the cup.

Simons finally took his gaze off of Davy and looked up at the maid. "You may g—" His eyes widened and Davy tilted his head. Simons is surprised.

The maid picked up the silver coffeepot and disappeared.

Then she was splashing the entire pot of coffee onto Thug One and the blonde was slapping at his clothes and falling to one side. Sojee screamed again, but this time it was cut off abruptly as Sojee, and the figure in the maid's uniform, vanished. The empty silver coffeepot fell to the floor with a clank.

Davy staggered, fell off his shins to the side. The room seemed to whirl. I guess she can jump.

He shook his head hard. Or it's a psychotic break.

He felt packed in cotton, distant, as if he were watching things through thick glass.

But the others were reacting as if it had happened, too. In fact, Simons reaction warmed Davy's heart.

Simons was on his feet, the chair falling back to thump against the wall and fall, sideways, to the floor. "Oh, shit! Shit, shit, shit!" He pulled a gun from inside his jacket and backed into the corner by the two-way mirror. He held the gun out, one hand bracing the other and swiveled his head back and forth, scanning the room.

Thug One climbed to his feet, holding the hot cloth of his shirt and pants away from his skin.

Simons yelled at him. "Get in the other corner and get your gun out! No, not that corner—you want to shoot me? She'll be back for her husband. For God's sake, shoot to kill!"

Millie? It was Millie. They'll shoot her!

He clenched his fists and staggered to his feet. The room reeled. This ends now.

He twinned to the beach, by the trees where the water-filled crater in the sand was still visible. He saw the ghost Simons react to the sudden flood of sunlight across the oak floor.

Simons jerked his gun up and pointed the gun right at Davy.

Fire blossomed from the muzzle and the sound was palpable. Davy gasped, expecting to die, but he heard the bullet hit a branch behind him and tumble, ripping through the underbrush with a harsh buzzing sound.

How could he miss?

Davy shifted several yards out into the ocean and splashed neck deep in water.

But he was also still in the room.

The wave of salt water rushed out of his body in every direction, a torrent flowing through the Davy-shaped hole. The circuit breakers blew as the salt water filled the electrical outlets and the high-mounted emergency light cast a garish glare over the rising water. It filled the room neck deep in two seconds despite pouring out through the open door. The heavy oak wardrobe toppled and bobbed, then wedged against the door. It flooded and sank, damming the door and raising the water higher. Davy moved to deeper water, kicking off the bottom, and the water level in the room rose too.

He saw Simons open his mouth in a scream but it was inaudible over the rushing water. Simons pointed his gun and fired and this time the bullet burned across Davy's shoulder. Then the rising water swept Simons off his feet.

Davy was tugged and pulled, but almost mildly since the water flowed through his body, not against it, completely unlike the cascade of water that swept Simons and the blonde off their feet and squirted them through the doorway into the hall.

Davy ducked his head under and heard the house groaning, shifting, as tons of water filled the third floor hallway and cascaded down the stairway. He put his head back out of the water and shuffled to deeper water, floating higher in the room until only a foot of air space remained below the ceiling. The emergency light showed from below the water for a few seconds then flickered out, shorted by the salt water. He heard something crack and the water dropped abruptly.

The Australian sunlight still poured through him, making the water around him glow and this light, refracted by the dancing surface, flickered across the ceiling. Between the bathroom and the square, the floor had opened up and water was draining through it in a whirlpool, like a toilet flushing.

Into the room where my electronic leash lives. He took a deep breath. At least Sojee is free.

The implant triggered. He doubled over, flinching wholly back into the room, into the unlit dark. His body, now subject to the roaring waters, spun and jerked as the water drained through the floor, but the manacle and chain tethered him, wrenching his knee and hip but keeping him from the hole.

His convulsing body settled to the floor as the last of the water receded, but he wasn't conscious and he wasn't breathing.