Anew: Book Three: Entwined (7 page)

“You sure you ought to be here,
boss?” Gab asks. “You just got out of the hospital yesterday.”

I frown, wondering why she’s taking
this detour around telling me what I want to know. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

The pair stare at me a moment
longer before Hollis relents. “The divers have finished searching the aqueduct
where Davos was last seen. They’ve confirmed what the scavengers told us. At
some point, probably decades ago, a portion of the channel collapsed into an
underground river that discharges into the harbor just beyond the city.
Tracking wind and tide patterns, we isolated the area where Davos’ body should
have washed ashore. There’s no sign of it.”

“And you’re still convinced that
the scavengers themselves don’t have it and just aren’t ready to reveal that
yet?” I ask.

“I spoke with Edward McClellan
myself,” Gab says. “He has excellent sources among the scavenger community. If
they had the body, he’d know it.”

I can’t help but smile. Not too
long ago, those condemned to exist in the underbelly of the city were ‘scavs’,
so far as Gab was concerned. But since they’ve shown a willingness to fight for
their rights, they’ve become a community worthy of respect.

“There’s a slim chance that Davos’
associates could have beaten us to the body,” Hollis says. “But the much
greater probability is that the bastard is still alive.”

I wish I could remember how Davos was
right before he went into the water--in despair, suicidal, enraged? Maybe I
should reconsider getting that memory probe. But from the description Amelia
provided, it strikes me that he was more defiant than resigned to his own
death.

“We have to go on the assumption
that he survived,” I say. “He’s got to be holed up somewhere but he can’t stay
on his own forever. Sooner or later, he’ll reach out to someone for help.”

“We’ve got a tap into every channel
of communication that he’s ever been known to use,” Gab says. “Plus those of
all his known associates. Clarence is also maintaining a heightened level of
surveillance on the entire global data stream, looking for anything that could
indicate Davos’ presence.”

“If he farts,” Hollis says, “we’ll
smell it.”

I don’t blame him for feeling
confident. Clarence--as he named himself--is one of the most powerful A.I.s on
the planet, and an integral part of Slade Enterprises. I’d say that he’s our
most valued employee except I’ve only just gotten around to not referring to
him as ‘it’. For a silicon-based life form, he’s okay, even if he and his kind
may eventually take over the planet.

“So what’s got the two of you in a
twist?” I ask.

Another look passes between my trusted
friends and associates. Finally, Hollis says, “Actually, it’s McClellan. From
what we’ve picked up, he’s not just wired into the scavengers. He’s also got
connections among a leadership group that’s emerged recently among the workers.
In fact, it looks as though McClellan himself facilitated the formation of the
group.”

“Edward knows that things have to
change,” I say quietly. “He wants that to happen as peacefully as possible. If
he can act as an intermediary between the different social classes in the city,
more power to him.”

Gab frowns. “Clarence ran an
analysis,” she says. “He assesses that if Davos is disposed of, there is a
sixty-seven point four percent probability that within eighteen months, Edward
McClellan will assume supreme power in the city, using his alliances with the
scavengers and workers, and the respect he commands among the ruling elite to
do so.”

‘Teddy’, as I like to call him when
we’re trash talking on the polo field, is a lot of things--smart, driven, and
formidable in his own buttoned-down, bespoke suit kind of way. But he’s not
remotely power mad. I’m dead certain of that.

“Clarence is wrong.” I hope the
quantum-computing bastard is listening. “There’s zero percent chance of that
happening. It’s not Edward’s style. At the most, he’d be a democratically
elected leader answerable to all the people.”

Now that I think of it, I like that
idea. I just don’t know whether he’d ever consider it.

 “Maybe not,” she allows. “But the likelihood
of him being able to simply seize power for himself increases to ninety-two
point eight percent if McClellan strikes a temporary alliance now with Davos,
which he could do readily enough by helping him elude you.”

I stare at her in disbelief. Gab is
light years smarter than this. “You do remember that Davos kidnapped Edward’s
cousin and imprisoned her in a sadomasochistic sex club? Edward wants him dead
as much as Amelia and I do.”

“There’s nothing to say that
McClellan wouldn’t kill him ultimately,” Gab agrees. “But Davos could be very
useful to him in the meantime. Besides…”

She hesitates. As she does, Hollis
takes a step back, like he’s getting out of the line of fire. He shoots me an
apologetic look.

 Gab takes a breath, stares me
straight in the eye, and says, “Amelia isn’t actually Edward McClellan’s cousin,
is she?”

Only a tiny handful of people who
are still alive know the truth about Amelia. Or so I’ve believed. If I’m wrong
and word has gotten out before I’m ready to deal with it-- A wave of anger goes
through me.

“What the hell are you talking
about?”

Gab doesn’t so much as flinch. “Her
identity is good,” my tough-as-nails head of cyber-intelligence says. “Whoever
put it together knew what they were doing. A thousand experts could drill down
into it and not find anything suspicious.”

“But not you? You think you know
better?”

What was she doing looking into
Amelia’s identity in the first place? Oh, yeah, she and Hollis care about me.
They knew that I walked into the club alone despite the obvious risks because Amelia
was there. They’d want to know that she didn’t lure me there.

Even as anger stabs through me that
they’d even consider such a possibility, I have to respect them for it.

Gab spreads her hands in a gesture
at once apologetic and relentless. “Anyone putting together a false identity
knows that it’s important for it not to look too smooth. Metaphorically
speaking, it should be like one of those old fashioned diaries people used to
keep, on paper written in ink. The colors of the ink change, the handwriting
alters at least a little, there are variations spread over time. You know what
I mean?”

I nod. “Continue.”

“The problem is that when I looked,
really looked deep into Amelia’s life, a pattern emerged that shouldn’t be
there. At first, I thought I was seeing things but then I realized what was
going on. The variations are introduced at intervals that are too regular to be
real. Whoever created the identity is good. I’m not faulting them. But this
kind of thing happens at such a subconscious level that it’s all but impossible
to guard against.

 “I’m sorry, boss.” Gab adds
gently. “Whoever she really is, you obviously care for her. But if McClellan’s
stake in all this isn’t what we’ve been thinking it is, then--” She breaks off,
shrugging sympathetically.

I look from one to the other of the
two people who are among the very few individuals on this planet that I’m close
to. I’d trust either of them with anything but some things aren’t mine to give.
The truth about Amelia is on the tip of my tongue, I’m ready to blurt it out,
when I remember that she should be the one to decide who knows and who doesn’t.
Right now, it’s her secret to keep or not. I’m not going to take that from her.

But it may not be up to me. Gab is
damn good but if she could discover that Amelia’s identity is false, somebody
else just might do the same. It’s bad enough that Davos knows. The implications
of others making the same discovery amount to fuel thrown on a fire that’s
already threatening to rage out of control.

I’d been thinking that I’d deal
with the twisted sociopath first, then get Amelia’s situation straightened out.
But now I realize that can’t wait.

“You’re wasting your time worrying
about McClellan,” I say. “Focus on Davos. He’s out there and I want him found,
whatever rock he’s under. While you’re doing that, we need to put a strike team
together.” Quietly, I add, “Make sure everyone on it understands that this will
be a kill mission.”

Hollis nods. “No problem, boss.
There isn’t a man or woman here who won’t want to be in on this one.”

I let myself take a moment to
appreciate the loyalty and professionalism of my people. I’d match any of them
against any force on the planet but there are still some tasks that call for
different abilities.

“In the meantime, I’ve got some
rocks of my own to turn over.”

I don’t like the people I’m about
to reach out to but I don’t have any choice. Not if I’m going to make sure that
Amelia gets what should have been hers all along.

Amelia

“V
ery good.” Hamako smiles as she speaks. Her smiles
are becoming more real as we get to know each other better.

We’re in the kitchen, a large, airy
room that looks out over the lagoon and displays both western and eastern
influences. A stainless steel six-burner gas stove stands near a matching wok
range with two circular pans set in rings above an enclosed basin of steaming
water. There’s also more high-tech equipment including a sous vide cooking bath
for long, slow poaching that Hamako tells me seals in flavors, and a 3-D
printer capable of producing everything from pizzas to pastries.

But it’s the sushi station that
holds my attention at the moment. After a few false starts, I’ve managed to
make a recognizable tuna roll. I’m inordinately proud of it. Preparing sukiyaki
was a simple matter of making sure nothing got overcooked. Combining raw fish,
rice, and seaweed into something that someone would actually want to eat is
more challenging.

“We have an abundance of seafood
here on the atoll,” Hamako says, “both wild and cultivated. If you like, we can
visit the commissary and you can get a better idea of what is available.”

“I would like that but please don’t
think that you have to entertain me. I know you have duties to see to, as well
as your husband to take care of.” I feel a little pang at the latter. I’d like
to take care of Ian but I doubt that he will let me except within very well
defined limits.

Thinking of what he allowed last
night, I feel myself blushing. It was…good. To put it mildly. But mostly what I
feel is relief. We got over the hurtle of renewing our physical intimacy in the
aftermath of Carnival but what now? The truth is that I like Ian being in
control. Not every single time, perhaps. Variety has its place but in general--

“Looking after this house doesn’t
require very much,” Hamako continues. She draws me from my disturbingly
arousing thoughts. “That’s part of the beauty of Japanese design. Besides, I
enjoy your company.”

Her gaze runs over me in a gesture
that isn’t in any way disrespectful. “You are very graceful,” she says. “Am I
right that you are a dancer?”

With relief, I give myself up to a
far less distracting topic. “I’m a ballet student. I’ve never performed. But
you’re a dancer also, aren’t you?”

She nods. “I am most qualified in
the Nihon Buyō form but I have studied all types of classical Japanese
dance. It is required for a geisha.”

“Ian told me that you were a geisha
instructor before you came here.”

 “I was honored to preserve that
part of my country’s traditions. But I also discovered that I truly love
teaching. Being able to pass on one’s knowledge to another generation is a kind
of immortality.”

I think of the other kind that
certain people are seeking---to defeat death entirely no matter what the cost
to others. My appreciation of this delicate but strong woman increases even
further.

“I miss going to ballet class.” I
don’t want to impose on her anymore than I am already but I can’t resist
adding, “Perhaps, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, you could give me some
instruction? It would be a better use of your time than a tour of the
commissary.”

Her soft, tinkling laugh makes me
smile. “You would be doing me a great favor if I could be a teacher again.”

We finish up in the kitchen and
adjourn to the terrace. For the next hour, Hamako takes me through the
movements of the sparrow dance performed to a recording of flutes and small
drums, and meant to evoke the presence of those delicate creatures. I am struck
by how controlled and focused the dance is.

When I say as much to Hamako, she
nods. “We Japanese are a passionate, intense people living in close proximity
to one another on a series of rocky islands. We had to learn control in order
to survive.”

A shadow passes across her lovely
face. “There have been times in our history when we have forgotten that with
very bad results for everyone. That is why it is so important that the aspects
of our culture that help us maintain control should not be lost in the modern
world.”

“Does bushido play a role in that?”
I want to learn more about the philosophy of war that Ian has made his own.

“Most definitely but I’m afraid
that I can tell you little about it apart from what I have observed here. My
husband, Takashi, is far more knowledgeable. Perhaps you would like to speak
with him about it?”

“Perhaps.” Regardless of what Ian
said, I intend to return to the compound. I want to learn more about what goes
on there but I also haven’t given up my interest in learning some form of
self-defense. It occurs to me that being on the atoll may finally afford me the
chance to do that. In addition to picking up a few other skills.

“What else does a geisha study?” I
ask. “Besides traditional dances?”

“How to play various instruments.
Part of our role is to be performing artists.”

“And the rest--”

Hamako smiles as though she knows
what I’m too embarrassed to ask. What did she learn about pleasing men? Not
that I’m completely ignorant on the subject but I have a long way to go before
I can hope to approach the level of someone who has devoted her life to that
particular field of study.

“One way to think of a geisha is as
a hostess,” she says. “A good hostess creates a setting and a mood in which her
guests feel cared for.”

I nod but I’m a little
disappointed. However, if she isn’t willing to say more, I wouldn’t dream of
pressing her.

“Of course,” Hamako adds with a
sidelong glance, “there are all sorts of ways to care for a man.”

We share a look of silent understanding.

“Provided,” I murmur, “that the man
in question is willing to accept such care.”

Her finely arched eyebrows rise in
silent surprise. Hamako helped me order a new bed and arrange for its speedy
delivery. I don’t for a moment imagine that she thinks that the one we had
collapsed of its own accord.

Gently, she says, “A woman is like
a flower, rooted into the essence of the earth. She cannot go chasing after the
bee and yet the bee comes to her, drawn by the ineffable sense of her that
cannot be resisted.”

I think of the images I’ve seen of
geishas, kneeling in their exquisite kimonos. They do look like lovely flowers
waiting serenely for the kiss of the bee--or its sting.

“I’m not sure that I’m capable of
such patience,” I say honestly.

Hamako shrugs. “Oh, well, in that
case it is also true that a wise woman makes her own opportunities.” She sounds
suddenly far more modern and not at all abashed about it.

“Come,” she says, “let’s take the
boat over to the compound. I would like to introduce you to Takashi and I know
that he will want us to show you around.”

I agree because I am curious to
meet her husband but also because I can’t help hoping to catch a glimpse of
Ian. Although we’ve only been apart a few hours, his absence is an ache inside
me.

Rather than call the motor boat to
get us, Hamako shows me to a small sailing skiff tucked away under the wooden
stairs that connect the house to the beach. Between the two of us, we have no
difficulty carrying it down to the lagoon and setting it in the water. Once
aboard, Hamako takes the rudder while I hoist the single sail. It is goldenrod
yellow and stands out vividly against the deep blue of the cloudless sky.

Our passage across the lagoon is
made largely in silence punctuated only by the muted roar of the engine and the
soft whisper of the wind. But as we near the opposite side, other sounds
intrude. Thuds, grunts, and shouted orders interrupt the natural quiet.

We leave the boat at the dock and
walk a short distance inland. The Medical building and landing strip that I’m
familiar with are to the west but we’re heading east into an area where I
haven’t been before.

“The compound takes up this side of
the atoll,” Hamako says. “The other side is a nature preserve except for the
house and the property immediately around it.”

I nod but I’m only half listening.
I’m too busy gaping at the array of buildings and training fields that stretch
as far as I can see. Close by are huge corrugated metal sheds filled with every
imaginable type of military vehicle from armored jeeps to tanks. The jeeps I
can understand but tanks on an atoll? I puzzle over what use they could be in
such a restricted space before I realize that they must be stored here for
transport when needed elsewhere. My gaze moves on to a circular building set
apart from the rest.

“The auxiliary armory,” Hamako
says. “The main armory is on one of the islands offshore. For safety, you
understand?”

I nod even as the realization
settles over me that the atoll is every bit as much a fortress as Pinnacle
House itself. I shouldn’t be surprised. This is who Ian is, what he does. It’s
just fortunate for the world that he is a man of decency and honor. Even if he
doesn’t totally believe that about himself.

“The dojo is this way.” Hamako indicates
a single story building similar in design to the house but much more strictly
utilitarian. The large room we step into is empty but only briefly. A handsome
Asian man emerges from another part of the building. At first glance, he looks
formidable, extremely fit with an air of authority about him. But the moment he
sees us, his dark eyes light up and he smiles.

“Hamako,” he says softly. “This is
a nice surprise.”

Her pale cheeks warm, as though
infused by the delicate flush of a rose petal. She meets his gaze and quickly casts
her eyes downward, murmuring, “Takashi.”

I suddenly feel like an intruder
into an intimate scene that demands privacy. However long these two have been
married, the intensity of their feelings for each other is unmistakable.

I glance away, out through a broad
window toward a training field. A group of men are nearby--all big, all
tough-looking, the dark stains on their sweats indicating that they’ve been
through a rigorous work-out. My gaze is about to pass over them when they shift
a little and I see the man standing at their center.

Ian.

That quickly, the world contracts
even as my heart feels as though it is expanding, filling my chest, my body, my
consciousness. I drink in the sight of him. He looks strong, vigorous, and in
command. Restored to himself or at least almost there. Thankfulness wells up in
me, profound gratitude mingling with new awareness of the fragility of life. I’m
swept by an irresistible need to seize the moment.

Belatedly, I become aware that
Hamako and Takashi are watching me. She looks gently amused, he appears
thoughtful. I flush, conscious of how starkly obvious my feelings must be.

Hamako murmurs an introduction and
I manage somehow to respond.

“What do you think of our little
hideaway?” Takashi asks with a smile.

I can’t help but laugh at that
description of the atoll. “It’s formidable,” I say honestly. On a sudden
impulse, I add, “The facilities seem quite extensive. I wonder if I might be
able to make use of some of them.”

“What do you have in mind?” he asks
with a note of surprise.

“I’d like to learn some form of
self-defense. I’ve been taking ballet classes and I think that I’m in good
condition but that’s not the same as knowing how to protect myself.”

Neither asks why I feel the need to
do so. The omission makes me wonder if they-- and possibly everyone else on the
atoll--knows what happened at the club including that Ian was almost killed
because of me. I cringe inside. If I had been able to defend myself, I might
have been able to escape the goons Davos sent after me. I would never have been
held prisoner at the club. Ian wouldn’t have come there and almost lost his
life.

What began as a wish to pursue
interests that are entirely my own, owing nothing to the legacy I received from
Susannah, is suddenly far more urgent.

Takashi seems to sense my
determination. “I cannot put you into any existing class,” he says gently.
“Everyone in them has had martial arts training in the past so what we do is
very advanced. However, I’m considering starting a beginner’s class. Cohesion
between field and non-combatant personnel isn’t a problem for us but it can
still always be improved.”

“Cohesion?” I murmur. My gaze has
drifted again out the window, to Ian. I’ve rarely had an opportunity to observe
him without him being aware. He’s laughing at something one of the other men
said and the sight of him--young, bold, in good humor with himself and the
world--thrills me to my toes.

“It means bonding,” Takashi
explains. He appears amused by my inability to give him my full attention. I
sense this would not be the case if he were instructing me.

“Martial arts training for
non-combatants will give them more common ground with field personnel,” he
continues. “Such shared experience fosters a sense of commitment to one another
and helps people face challenges together.”