Fog (14 page)

DIE

Nausea hits. I swallow.

I’m sorry, so sorry, my dear.

Fuck, I don’t want his apology. It means nothing to me; even less so reading it, and not hearing him say it aloud. Better that way. I don’t have to produce a response.
 

Before I can delete the lines, I realise that Kat has stepped closer to read our exchange.
 

‘It’s him. Cacho, I mean.’ My gaze drops to my bare feet.

Runner stares at the screen, then at me. I know he’ll demand an explanation soon.

Your comm?
he types.

Microwaves used for monitoring global soil moisture. The satellite is in a graveyard orbit and hasn’t been used for decades. I reprogrammed it to run a primitive communication signal. No one but me is aware of this connection. Another thing: You probably plan to send back Joanna to double-check if it’s really me sending you this text. I strongly advise you against it. I knew this day would come; I prepared for it. I’m gone now and you don’t want anyone to know that old Cacho disappeared. And no, I’ll not have kids anytime soon. You’ll not find me, and most importantly, the BSA won’t either. If you can get someone to personally talk to Joanna, she’ll tell you there were no signs of a wife when she was in my home. She can also tell you what tea I offered her: spearmint — and that I had fresh oatmeal cookies in the oven when she arrived.

Runner’s hand is hovering over the screen. He shakes his head as if to shake off a fly.
You knew what Erik planned.

I guessed it
.
I’m deeply sorry he took this path. And I’m sorry I had to pull you in, Micka.

‘Why did you do it, then?’ I ask and Runner throws me a sidelong glance, but doesn’t write my question to…whoever is on the other side.

One of our strengths is also one of our weaknesses,
shows on the screen.
By recruiting suicidal young men and women, we make sure they fight without much regard for their own lives. But they are vulnerable to the BSA’s influence. They’ve all learned long ago that humans can be cruel. So why not kill them all?
Erik was a broken soul. I took him in because he showed great talent and I wanted him to live. I loved that boy, and I respected the man he grew into. He kept an eye on you, Micka, for a few years, but your mother and father talked him into leaving. It wasn’t “becoming,” they kept telling him. He interfered with the family growing back together, they said. I had to go abroad and he was to come with me. Good timing; the problem was solved for a few years. We returned when you were five. Only two weeks later, Erik disappeared. I have never figured out why. Much later, I had a theory. I believe you were twelve years old; it was in the winter you fixed that turbine and almost froze off your fingers. Zula had to attend to you. Can you remember that I was there, too?

So that’s what it was. No cut, only frostbite. I nod. Runner types,
yes
.

Zula showed me your back and asked me to take you away from your parents. He said he’d asked the same of Erik a few years back. Strange coincidence, don’t you think? Erik returns, learns about your injury and disappears. That he went after your father and was killed in the process was one of my theories.

Runner’s head slowly turns. I don’t look at him. My head echoes with “your father.” Who the heck is that supposed to be? The shitstick who raised me, or the assbucket who donated sperm?

I did not know what to do, but I—

I push Runner aside and type,
Cut to the point, old man.
My index finger hits
send
with a loud clonk. I don’t want to know what he has to tell me. I don’t want to hear why he didn’t move a muscle. I don’t give a shit about his reasons. He doesn’t get to empty his bucket of guilt. Keep it full, old man. Keep it full to the brim.

Breathing hard, I step away from the computer and turn away from the screen.

Runner reads Cacho’s next message for me. ‘In the ensuing years, I tried to find out what had happened. But there was no trace of him until you contacted me today. That was quite a shock.’

Runner clears his throat. ‘Are you sure Erik can tap our conversations?’

‘Not this one, but the one we had before. I played senile to lead him—’

‘Yes, I’m aware of that now. How can you be sure he doesn’t access the satellite you are using now?’ Runner asks.

‘He doesn’t know it exists.’

‘How so?’

‘This old satellite was supposed to crash into the Pacific more than twenty years ago. We never cared much about it. Soil moisture, who needs that now? But the thing never came down, just wobbled along its orbit. When I tried to find out what happened to my apprentice, I investigated all of his last projects, checked every single piece of software and hardware he used. I had an inkling, a second theory. He’d talked about our espionage unit and that he wants to work for them. How he even knew about this unit is a mystery to me. So, I held on to the hope that he did indeed work for them, but I made sure the few outdated satellites — the ones he never touched while he worked with me — would be in the best possible shape and remain in orbit. I know it sounds odd, but I wanted to make sure I had a few communication routes he couldn’t use to spy on me.’

‘What precisely did he do before he left?’ Runner asks, sparing me from turning around to read for myself. Does he know I don’t want to show my face to anyone now?

‘Hard to say. I have a few suspicions. But our time is running short. This satellite allows only a narrow communication window. It opens every one hundred and twenty minutes and closes after twelve minutes. Make sure you are available next time the window opens. I need to know what Erik is doing now. What role does he play in the BSA? Why is he at the front line, when his expertise is in satellites? I guess I don’t need to point out that this is a very serious matter.’

When Runner is silent for too long, I turn around. His finger hovers over the screen. A short moment later, he swipes the machine off without acknowledging Cacho’s request.

His fierce gaze holds mine. ‘Explain.’

‘None of your business.’

‘It’s very much my business. I will not trust blindly. This man’s identity is not proven beyond doubt.’

‘It is. I know it. He used to have oatmeal cookies and a thermos with peppermint tea on him whenever I met him.’
 

‘So everyone who knows Cacho, knows this, too.’ Runner is growing impatient.
 

I sigh. He’s correct, of course. It sounds so nice.
I had cookies and tea for the Sequencer you sent to me.
Shit. I want to throw my stupid heart away. The thing hurts in the least practical moments.
 

Runner turns to Kat and asks, ‘What’s the name of the Sequencer you sent to contact Cacho?’

‘Joanna Miller.’

‘Did you mention her name at any time during the satellite conversation?’

‘Of course I did,’ she says.
 

He nods, and turns his attention back to me.

‘Micka, we have two options. One: you tell me what is so convincing. Two: I block this person from contacting us.’

‘Why do we need him?’ I ask.

Runner huffs a sigh and sits down. His hand rests on the keypad, fingers tapping lightly against its frame. ‘Erik has access to our satellites and every single move we make is visible to the BSA. The consequences are…catastrophic. If this…’ he waves at the screen, ‘…is not fake and he
is
Cacho and all he’s told us is true, then we need his help to regain control.’

‘I don’t think it’s relevant. Erik will know it, too, so—’

‘Dammit, Micka! If you can’t make up your mind about the importance of a bit of information that seems relevant to me, it’s time you let me form my own opinion about
how
important it really is.’

I bite down on my cheeks. Just an old scar, I tell myself. I have tons of those and he gets to see one. Who gives a shit?

‘You are pale,’ he says.

‘I’m not.’ I rub the itch from my eyes. ‘I’ll tell you, but not her.’ I point at Kat.
 

She crosses her arms over her chest. ‘No way. Did you notice how sure he seems of himself? Did you notice that he gave us very little useful information? If at all! He spent a lot of time on personal crap concerning your apprentice and his cookies, probably to make us all shed a few tears and naively believe he’s one of the good guys.’

‘Kat, do me a favour,’ Runner says.
 

We all wait for someone to cave in. In the end, she leaves, her stride stiff. I’m sure she’ll eavesdrop. But there’ll be nothing to hear.

I turn my back to Runner and pull off my shirt.

The ensuing silence is too loud to bear.

He takes a step forward. And another one. Then, a soft touch of warm fingertips between my shoulder blades. They are frozen to the spot that marks the top of the “I.” Slowly, they wander down, pretending calmness. Pretending the breath doesn’t stall and the heart doesn’t hurt.

I picture his face. Pale, eyes round, mouth thin-lipped. I know his first thought is,
did she do this to herself?
A blink of an eye later, the brain registers the difference to the scars on my arms, the depth here and the jagged edges. Another blink, and the realisation sinks in that no one can possibly reach her own back and hack this between her shoulder blades.

For a long moment nothing happens. I don’t even hear him breathing. He’s just standing there, taking in the patterns on my back.
 

DIE

‘Only four people know about it: my father, who cut it; my mother, who covered it up; Zula, our physician, who fixed me up; and Cacho because Zula asked him to take me away from my parents and bring me to my…spermdonator, or whatever that man is.’ My voice is unsteady. I pull my shirt back on and walk away before my knees give in.

Erik Vandemeer. I don’t even know what I should call this man. Father doesn’t nail it. But then, the word
father
never had any other meaning to me than pain.

I walk down to the shore and sit in the sand. Half the sky is black, the other half, bright blue. A rainbow stands bow-legged at the horizon, feet in the water. The ocean’s fidgety surface cuts the sun into a thousand tiny fragments. I focus on it and try to empty my mind. It doesn’t work, so I shed my clothes and slip into the water’s cool embrace, swim a few metres and sink to the dark bottom, and let the booming of the waves calm my heart. Saltwater soaks through the bandages and burns in my wounds. I let it burn and stay underwater until my chest contracts and my lungs scream for release.
 

I wash my hair and my skin, although, I’m clean enough from taking a long swim with Runner earlier in the morning. I remove the wet bandages, rub myself dry with my shirt, get dressed, and walk back to our camp to disinfect and dress my cuts.

‘Micka?’ Runner’s eyes scan my arms and the handful of soaking wet bandages. ‘Where is your knife?’ There’s anger in his voice.

‘I took a swim. The knife is in my tent.’ I walk up to him. ‘Do you think Erik blackmailed Cacho to make me come to him?’

‘It’s possible. But I’m not sure why he would do this. Members of the BSA don’t give a damn about family ties.’

‘Hm,’ I answer and dig my toes into the soil.

‘Micka?’

‘Yes?’

‘Whatever this man wrote us today, Erik most likely knows about the scar,’ Runner says.

‘Yes, but Erik wouldn’t know how Cacho learned about it; he was gone already. Next time Cacho calls, I want him to tell me why he picked me.’

‘Yeah, I want to know that, too.’

‘The map, please.’ Runner snips an impatient finger at Kat. She blinks away the somewhat disrespectful gesture, switches on the screen, and opens a map of Taiwan.

‘Okay. As we know, the BSA went in here,’ he points at the west coast, one hundred kilometres off the southern tip of the island. ‘Two weeks later, we lost contact.’

He enlarges the observatory. ‘Erik, a former Sequencer and a satellite control, communications, and intelligence specialist, appears to have a leading role in this BSA group. We must assume he sees every single one of our moves during daylight hours when the sky is clear.

‘Their camp is a two-day hike from here.’ Runner points his index finger at a thin red line amidst the thick green forest — an old airstrip. ‘They are in possession of heavy weaponry.’ He nods at Ben and Yi-Ting and gets grave stares in return. ‘From now on, you two are responsible for visuals from the coastlines between Taiwan and the continent. I need to know if and when troop and cargo transport vessels are approaching. The BSA will reinforce sooner or later; all this weaponry can’t be for the fifty odd men we’ve seen
. First question is: what do they need it for? Certainly not to attack us; we are only four people. Second question is: how many more camps and men do they have on location? Y
i-Ting, how far did you get with the coding?’

‘We can encrypt text messages now,’ she answers. ‘It’s an old military technique that was used long before we took sole control of satellites. The BSA might be able to intercept the signal, but as long as they don’t have the codes, they’ll not understand what’s being exchanged. I’ll provide you with a list of codes that we’ll switch every twenty-four hours.’