Matrix Man (10 page)

Like a good many other people, President Hawkins had found Ruler for Life Numalo something less than convenient and had taken steps to remove him from the scene. Thanks to Carla Subido, however, the Immortals had been ready and waiting when the attack came.

Members of Numalo's bodyguard weren't truly immortal, of course, but were equipped with implants which recorded every moment of their lives for the computerized annals of their elite organization. The fact that this digitized immortality also ensured their complete loyalty to Numalo either escaped them or didn't matter. Every day young men came in untold thousands to apply for every vacancy.

This one was young and slim, and his tribal name meant "sugar," which was what she called him. People sometimes misunderstood that, and when they did, the two of them would laugh. They could never have a sexual relationship. Like all of his brethren, Sugar was a voluntary eunuch.

The warehouse was huge, stretching away in every direction to darkened corners, empty of everything but a small structure at its very center. The air was damp, still heavy with the scent of the raw lumber which had once been stored there, and full of dust, which danced in the thin streamers of light which came from up above.

Carla's heels made a sharp clicking noise as she walked toward the small structure. About the size of a small summer cabin, the cube-shaped structure was covered with shiny metal and sat on skids. Carla knew that underneath the cube's metallic skin there were layers of wire mesh, special foil, and electronic jamming wafers which would block every known type of surveillance device. It wouldn't do to have people listen in as the president's chief of staff received her instructions from the head of a foreign government.

Sugar took up a position by the door, and Carla knew there were other guards as well, heavily armed and carefully positioned in case of trouble.

The door slid open at her touch and closed softly behind her. It was nearly dark inside the com cube, with only enough light to make her way to the large, luxurious chair and take a seat.

The light vanished altogether as she did so and was replaced by a full-dimension holo. Unlike the images carried by commercial television, this one was life-sized, and so life like that it never ceased to amaze her. She knew that Numalo was actually sitting in his office in Mandela, South Africa, but he looked so real that it was hard to tell. You'd never guess that the encrypted signal had been bounced off a satellite, re-scrambled, and fed into the com cube.

Samuel Numalo was a strikingly handsome man in his late thirties. He still had the body of the Olympic athlete he'd once been and liked to show it off.

For that reason, and to keep Carla psychologically off balance, Numalo was completely nude. As the holo locked up, Carla saw that two women, one black and one white, were performing oral sex on him. It was the white woman's turn at that particular moment.

Numalo smiled. "Hello, Carla. I hope this display doesn't offend you. Like everything else, sex is something I schedule, and today's calendar is somewhat crowded. I find it more efficient to accomplish two things at once."

Carla knew it wasn't true, knew he was playing with her emotions, and felt the pain. She remembered his arms around her, his strength inside her, and wanted to scream. But that would be a mistake and she didn't make mistakes.

She looked into his eyes and Numalo smiled. A brown contact lens covered one of his otherwise blue eyes, thereby presenting yet another aspect of his well-known duality. That's the way they described him in
Time
and
Newsweek.
Part black, part white. Part east, part west. Part human, part god. The man who had taken a continent, abused, despoiled, fragmented, and in a few short years transformed it into a power to be reckoned with. The man who had forged new alliances between ancient tribal enemies, built new bridges between conflicting cultures, and dreamt new dreams for a tired world. The man all of Africa called Father and Ruler for life. Damn him.

Carla looked at what the two women were doing and forced a smile. "I'm amazed to see that two people can do so much with so little."

Numalo threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, Carla, how I miss your spirit! All I ever hear around here is 'yes sir,' and 'no sir.' It is nice to converse with an equal for once."

Carla felt an inner warmth at the compliment, and it was quite literally true, because like him she controlled an entire nation.

Numalo saw it and prepared himself to push the next button. First, however, it would be necessary to lay some groundwork. "How are things going?"

Carla tried to concentrate, but found her eyes drifting down toward the two women. She forced them back up. "Things are going well. Although the press continues to grumble about cancellation of the president's public appearances, they have access to him through video, and that keeps most of them quiet."

"What about wide shots?"

Carla nodded in understanding. "We're using the actor to give them plenty of wide shots. 'Here's the president getting out of his helicopter, here's the president getting into his limo, here's the president heading out toward the tennis court.' All taken from a distance and all quite believable."

One of the women did something special, and Numalo winced with pleasure. "Yes, and given the plastic surgery, they couldn't tell the difference anyway."

Carla shrugged. "Probably not, although the actor's voice is considerably different, and he barely has enough intelligence to walk, talk, and chew gum at the same time."

Numalo laughed. "Actually, that could describe any number of the world's leaders right now."

"Yes," Carla agreed sincerely. "All but one."

Numalo nodded in response to the compliment. "Thank you, Carla. When I hear compliments, yours are among the few I believe."

Numalo paused for a moment, knowing she wouldn't like what he was about to say, searching for the best way to phrase it. "In spite of your success, things are not moving as quickly as I would like."

Carla's head jerked up. She didn't like the sound of this. From the beginning both had agreed that use of the video matrix generator would serve as a catalyst, a way of getting things moving, but wouldn't hold up for long.

There was Hawkins' wife, for one thing. She'd be out of die hospital in a day or two, and all hell would break loose. The actor was fine for wide shots, but Mary would see through him in two seconds.

And then there was die Cabinet and members of the White House staff. Thanks to the Information Age and all the electronic goodies which went with it, the Cabinet and staff could live wherever they chose. In fact, Carla Subido and Stan Lester were the only ones who actually worked in the White House. The rest of the staff were spread out all over the country. They usually met once a week via scrambled video conference and handled everything else by phone, data transfer, and high-speed fax.

And, thanks to the video matrix generator, that tradition had continued after the president's death. It wasn't easy, but so far she and Stan had managed to fake them out.

And what about the vice-president? One of these days she'd get tired of the junkets she loved so much and come home. What then?

Carla searched Numalo's face for some sign that he was joking. "This isn't funny, Samuel. We can't keep this up."

Numalo gave the black woman a pat of encouragement and left his hand on her shoulder. "I know it's inconvenient, Carla, but some of my peers are dragging their feet. Most are just jockeying for position, making sure of their positions in the new order of things, but a few have genuine doubts. They must be bought off or eliminated. Either way it takes time."

"Well, that's just ducky, Samuel, but meanwhile I'm sitting on a time bomb, and Mary Hawkins is due home any day now."

The black woman established a steady rhythm, and Numalo's eyelids fluttered in spite of his efforts to keep a straight face. He smiled sympathetically. "Believe me, Carla, I'm aware of the difficulties. I just need a little more time, that's all, time you can buy me, time to make
our
plans come true."

There, he'd pushed the button with the first person plural. Now to watch the results.

Carla heard him say "our" and felt a familiar warmth spread through her body. She did her best to look stern and failed. "But what about Mary?"

As each breath came a little faster, Numalo found himself wanting the interview to end. He must be careful, however, careful of her ego, careful of the future. What if she went to his superiors? What if she told them what he was doing? Numalo looked deep into Carla's eyes and projected his personality there. "Don't worry, Carla. Mary Hawkins won't come home. She'll pass away of natural causes before she leaves the hospital. A sudden and unexpected heart attack. And then, overcome with grief, the president will head for Camp David. Everyone will understand and we'll put the time to good use.”

Carla considered what he'd said. It made sense. Once again she marveled at the man's power. His ability to reach across the world and snuff out a life, but with an entire continent at his beck and call, why not? Soon it would be two continents, three, the entire world. Eventually he'd take the WPO itself, tear it from the greedy grasp of those who ran it now, and reshape it into something fine. And she would stand beside him. Carla stood.

"I'd better get back. I've got a country to run. And on top of that, it isn't easy to keep the rest of the staff happy when they don't have access to the president."

Numalo nodded. "I'm sure it is. Any other problems?"

Carla shook her head.

Numalo smiled. Having received a report from Dietrich only hours before, he knew about Rex Corvan and understood Carla's reluctance to mention him. The reop was nothing more than an annoyance so far, but given the potentially explosive nature of the situation, he could cause trouble. It was tempting to cancel Dietrich's ticket and put somebody more effective on the job. But if he did that, who would keep an eye on Carla?

Besides, Dietrich was an effective tool, a soldier who
liked
to kill. A talent he came by honestly through his Germanic blood, just as Numalo had, although his was enriched by a thousand generations of Zulu warriors. A powerful mixture indeed, Numalo thought to himself. What they say is true. I
am
a
god.

Suddenly Numalo found himself on the very edge of orgasm, and bit his lip to push it back, using the pain to clear his head. For the moment Dietrich would live and Carla would carry on.

"All right then, take care of yourself, Carla, and get some rest."

Carla smiled in return, carefully ignored the black woman's bobbing head, and touched the door. It slid open and she stepped outside. It was then, just before the door slid closed, that she heard Numalo cry out and wished that he were dead.

 

 

 

7

 

 

After completing his stand-up close, Corvan returned to his hotel. He had every intention of picking up exactly where he'd left off. Twelve hours of sleep followed by a huge breakfast and a day of rest. That's what he needed to put the edge back on.

But when Corvan arrived at his hotel there was a message waiting. All it said was "Please see me as soon as possible," signed "Kim," but that was enough. His desire to see her plus his curiosity made a powerful combination. So, after a shave and a change of clothes, Corvan packed up and checked out. The shoulder guard and robo cam made his bag somewhat heavy, but he was used to that. If he couldn't sleep in Seattle, maybe he'd do better in his San Francisco apartment.

Duffel bag in hand, Corvan stepped out onto the hotel's roof and headed for the nearest air cab. There was nothing special about the mousy-looking woman who followed him, and she was careful to keep it that way. About forty-five or fifty, she was dressed in a nondescript manner and looked like someone's mother, which she was.

Corvan climbed aboard the air cab and slept all the way to the Nakasaki Business Complex, completely oblivious to the pilot's curious looks and the second air taxi which followed along behind.

After what seemed like five or ten seconds, the chopper landed one skid at a time and the pilot shook him awake.

Corvan shoved his credit card in the pilot's direction, stretched, and took it back with a mumbled thanks. Grabbing his duffel bag, Corvan made his way into the building, waved in the direction of the reception desk, and headed for the elevators.

Louie called down to warn Kim of Corvan's arrival, but it was unnecessary. She was ready and had been for hours. Here she had news, really big news, and he was out screwing around. Yes, she knew he'd been on a story; after all, she'd seen the report along with millions of other people. But that didn't change the fact that he'd left her holding the bag, a rather nasty bag too, once you got it open and took a look inside. There was something else too, something she wouldn't completely admit to. She wanted to see him again.

There was a knock on the door. Kim checked to make sure she had her I-don't-need-any one expression firmly in place, and yelled, "Come on in!"

Corvan opened the door and stepped inside. It was cool and dark just like before. Kim stood in the soft glow of a recessed light. Shadows modeled her face as she looked down at some sort of printout. She was just as pretty as he remembered, maybe even more so. It seemed as though her hair was different, shorter maybe, and there was something about her eyes. Makeup? Whatever it was, he liked it. "Hello, Kim, I got your message. What's up?"

In spite of the cheerful greeting Kim could see Corvan was tired. Not only that, but he had deep scratches on his face where the man called El Toro had clawed him, and he walked with a slight limp.

Suddenly it all seemed real: the terrible fight, his victory over the convict. Her carefully hoarded anger melted away, leaving her all soft and mushy. Damn the man! Suddenly she was grinning like an idiot. She spoke quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice. "I saw the story. What they say is true. You really
are
crazy."