Necropolis (44 page)

“Masked,” replied the Lifetaker, which I took for an affirmative. “We’re clear until we reach the live security.”

We moved on, hugging the wall.

55

CONCH BEAM

** WEBSQUIRT/LIVE FEED/INSERT PEBBLE/NOW FOR/ACCESS THANK/YOU **

Perfect glowing female smarty face
:

>Wow, Kinner, Times Square hasn’t looked this good in fifty years!<

Perfect rugged male smarty jawline
:

>I’ll say, Mala! They really pulled out all the stops for this one!<

>Reminds me of the old flatflicks of New Year’s Eve!<

>Hey, yeah, that’s right! When the silver ball dropped!<

>Well, tonight’s event should be a lot glitzier than that!<
 

> Hellfire yes, Kinner! Hey, speaking of, guess who’ll be with us later for commentary?<

>Who, Mala?>

>Dick Clark!<

>No way!<

>Yes way!<

>That reeb doesn’t look a day over twenty!<

> Well, he could youthe a year when the Blister goes online tonight! It’ll be SPECTATOR-TACULAR!<

>Ha ha! Good one, Mala! Hey, good ole Broadway looks filled to capacity! Must be hundreds of thousands of onlookers, all jostling to get a look at our Commander-in-Beef!<

>President Hawkins and Adam Struldbrug, President of Surazal, of course, will be speaking to the world from the lounge platform on the 8th floor of the Marriott Marquis!<

>Yes, Mala, when that EM disc floats out from the eighth floor, we’ll get our first ever realtime live view of these famous men! If I had skin, I’d have goose bumps!<

>Yuck! Keep your piloerections to yourself, Kinner!”

>Haw haw!<

56

ADAM

A
dam Struldbrug loathed public ceremonies. He was always more comfortable working behind the scenes, so much so that, other than his entourage and vast army of employees, no more than a handful of Necropolitans would have recognized him on the street.

That was not the case for the man he was currently beside.

“What a remarkable day,” said the President of the United States.

Adam nodded.
 

He didn’t like the President and the President didn’t like him. The President was a man for whom aggression, necessary in his world, had become a reflexive, blunt tool instead of a fine-edged weapon to be used only in time of necessity. He no longer crushed enemies—both actual and perceived—because he had to, but because he had developed a taste for blood. Because of that, he was not a true predator of nature, like Adam was. Adam killed only when necessary. He had recognized the same quality in the man Donner. Both were skilled and lethal, but had developed control and restraint. The President had the insatiable air of a buffalo hunter who killed and killed and killed and then took only the hides, leaving whole herds to rot under the hot sun.

Adam believed this bloodlust, and the fact that the President had never in his life lost a contest (either political or personal) made the man too comfortable in his preeminence. He had forgotten, as Adam had not, that there was always another wolf below planning to make his move to the alpha position.

But politics made strange bedfellows, so here they were behind protective glass high above Times Square, smiling and waving down at the churning throngs below, their holoimages splashed across every building in the area.

Far above them, technicians were waiting for their cue to connect the last fibers of buckypaper, completing the inner skin of the Blister domes and bringing the monolithic structure finally and completely online.

It was just for show, of course, like the golden spike that had been hammered into the last tie plate of the Transcontinental Railroad almost two hundred years. But symbols were important.

Hence his presence today.

The tops of the thousands of wasps that hovered over the crowd caught the sun. From his higher position, they made it look like the crowd was covered by shimmering fireflies of gold. Nicole had insisted on the protective measure, which had surprised him, because she didn’t care about anyone. When she explained it was an opportunity to show off the new technology to potential customers all over the world, he’d demurred.
 

He wished that they could just get this thing over with so he could make his short speech, turn the show over to the President, and get out of this monkey suit.

The Secret Service agent closest to the President touched the dermal implant at his temple, listening. Adam had been wondering whether the man’s mouth was just for show, merely a line drawn in granite, so immobile had it been, but now it curved downward into a scowl.

“Mr. President, Mr. Struldbrug’s personal assistant insists on seeing him.”

The President turned to Adam, waiting for him to dismiss the intrusion. But Roberts would never dare interrupt them unless it was an absolute emergency.

“It must be serious,” he said.

The President sighed, but nodded.

Roberts was ushered onto the observation platform flanked by more agents.

Roberts looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

57

DONNER

T
he Victorian mansion was as conspicuous as a stockbroker on skid row. It was a Second Empire anachronism, the only freestanding house on the block. The government hadn’t cared. They’d just needed something intimidating the locals would stay away from. Hadn’t worked of course. Its Virginia brick face had been tagged and scrubbed more times than a call girl’s.

I scanned the mansard roof, the dormer windows. It was four stories, narrow and high. Two guards stood post on the dead lawn between the steps and the sidewalk, in front of the left and right quoins, twenty feet apart.

“Can’t take them out,” Max streamed in my ear. “With their wetwiring, any changes in body function will be noticed.”

“I’ll have to neutralize the guard in the back house—no choice,” I said. “That’s as much as we can risk. One man down could be a glitch, trigger a diagnostic instead of an alarm, but three? We’d hear the sirens from here. So we wait ’til break time and then camo past.”

***

Twenty minutes later I was beginning to think the guards were really scarecrows. Then the one nearest to us yawned elaborately and ambled away to his partner in front of the far bay window. They lit cigarettes. Their lighters almost overloaded my night optics.
 

“Breathe shallowly,” I subvocalized as we moved.

I felt like the Invisible Man, slinking slowly, softly, step by silent step up the driveway to the porte-cochere, where we’d be beyond their sight. It took forever. Finally we were beyond the edge of the building. We passed blacked-out casement windows in the foundation. The basement was a lie. Beneath it was the real basement—the secret fall-out shelter. The driveway was empty.

When we reached the rear corner of the mansion, I held up my hand. I felt Maggie press lightly against my back, her breath on my collar. Max held the rear, backpedaling, his rifle trained on the sidewalk in case our guard was a speed-smoker.
 

There were no guards between the mansion and the carriage house, some fifteen feet arrears. Just empty lawn. McDermott was relying solely on his sensors, which the Lifetaker had masked.
 

I hoped.

I looked at our objective, the two-story carriage house. Lights glowed dully through the mullioned windows of the kitchen and parlor. The building had been converted into what Bart would’ve called a “mother-in-law” cottage.
 

We moved quickly now, double-timing across the backyard to the carriage house door. Maggie and Max took up positions on each corner, becoming part of the walls.
 

I went up to the kitchen door and gently tried it. Unlocked.

I stepped inside. The guard glanced up from his sandwich, mayo on his face.

“Man,” I said. “Don’t you worry about cholesterol?”

58

 
CONCH BEAM

** WEBSQUIRT/LIVE FEED/INSERT PEBBLE/NOW FOR/ACCESS THANK/YOU **

Perfect glowing female smarty face
:

>Kinner, have you noticed all the wasps?<

Perfect rugged male smarty jaw line
:

>Yes, Mala! They’re Surazal’s newest security device, and boy, are they impressive! At six ounces apiece, and with a length of only an inch-and-a-half, you wouldn’t think they could do much, but they pack state of the art punch!<

>Guess we don’t have to worry about terrorists today, do we, Kinner?<

>No, Mala! With two hundred thousand of these babies patrolling our streets today, we’re totally SAFE!<

59

STRULDBRUG

I
t was the hotel’s largest ballroom—fifty thousand square feet—and it was ready for a hell of a party. After the joining was complete, four thousand VIPS would swarm into this place and ooh and ah over the tens of millions of dollars that had been spent: the food, the booze, the body-painted aerialists moving in complex rhythms over their heads, the 1:50 scale replica of the Blister rendered in glow-ice, the serotonin gas wafting from the air system that produced a mild but clear-headed euphoria. It had been electronically swept and re-swept for all manner of nastiness. Up until a moment ago it had been under the capable watch of the President’s personal safety detail.

Now, it was empty. Except for one man, sitting at the nearest table, fiddling with a Blister keychain party favor.

His son, Adam.
 

Struldbrug had to give him credit. Adam was able to suppress the shock of seeing him almost completely.

“You would pick today,” Adam sighed.

“Hello, Adam.”

Adam dropped the keychain onto an ivory plate and the noise galloped across the room. “I suppose this is meant to be some kind of punishment.”

“No.”

“How the hell did you get into the city? Here, into this building?”

Struldbrug shook his head and wondered why, in this day and age, people insisted on linking age with declining ability. “I got into the Holy of Holies during the siege of Jerusalem, remember? Got back out with a couple important items that couldn’t be allowed to fall into the hands of the Babylonians. This, in comparison, is child’s play.”

Adam shook his head. Struldbrug knew that there was nothing more tedious to his son than being reminded of his father’s ancient exploits. It was kind of like some singer who’d had a hit song thirty years ago and was now playing the local state fair. “I don’t have much time, so get to it.”

“You’re right,” his father said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. “You don’t.”

He laid the player on the table and turned it on.

60

DONNER

I
found her in the parlor, sitting in a Queen Anne chair, sipping a cup of tea. She looked up and froze as solid as Lot’s wife.

“Hey, baby,” I said.

She seemed to realize her cup was fixed halfway between lap and mouth and put it carefully back in the saucer on the sideboard. To her credit, her hand shook only a little.

“Paul,” she said.

Nobody called me Paul. Nobody but her.

I looked around. Pocket doors, the heavy kind that rolled on tracks into the walls, were closed at the left. Behind her was a fireplace with a floor-to-ceiling mantle, ornamented with beveled mirrors. Its ledge held wax flowers under glass domes. Fake life under glass. Appropriate.

“You look great,” I said.

“God, you’re so young,” she replied softly.

“Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

She straightened her back, clasping her hands in front of her. The lamp on the sideboard made her russet hair gleam. I knew exactly how it would feel.

“Let’s go through it, shall we?” I said. “For the record?”

“Is that necessary?”

“Humor me.”

She flicked a wrist toward the other chair, but I chose the American Empire sofa. It was comfortable as a pile of rocks. I laid the Beretta on the coffee table. Within reach of both of us.

“My case is unusual,” I started. “Usually the memories don’t come back.”

“When did you remember?”

“It first started surfacing in fragments, blended into dreams and other memories. But, with a little prodding from someone, it came back clearly yesterday.”

“You’re holding up pretty well, then. I doubt I’d have.”

I canted my head noncommittally.

“Where should I start?” she said with a tremor.

The funny thing was, I really hated putting her through this. Wasn’t that funny?

“The first time you met Nicole.”

“Such a long time ago.”

“Seems like yesterday.”

She expelled a puff of air through her nose that I couldn’t interpret. That delicate nose. “Well, you’d just left my office after your visit with the roses.”

“Yeah, you loved roses.”