The Sum of Her Parts (28 page)

One thing was certain: he would learn nothing by speculating. His right hand did not move toward the communicator resting in his shirt pocket. No ominous apertures appeared in the ceiling in response to a command. Immoderate methods of persuasion would not be necessary with these two. At most, a few selective descriptions of what could happen to them if they refused to cooperate should be sufficient to overcome any hesitancy. Muting the aggravation
he felt at this latest interruption in his copacetic daily routine, he sighed and began.

“What are your names, please, and who do you work for?”

He did not even have to threaten. The slender Meld spoke up without hesitation. “Everybody calls me Whispr, and this is my friend, Dr. Ingrid Seastrom.”

The woman looked shocked. “Whispr! How could you …?”

Kruger cut her off. “Your friend is being sensible as well as perceptive. These walls contain many monitors of diverse ability. As you hang there they are reading your blood pressure, heart rate, neurological output, cranial cortex response, and enough additional physiological factors to tell me whether you are lying or not.” He nodded approvingly at Whispr. “I can see that this interview will go quickly and responsibly.”

“And then you’ll kill us,” Ingrid muttered bitterly.

“Not necessarily. Termination, in every sense of the word, depends on your responses. Now, who are you working for?”

Head down, she stared at the floor. “Go ahead and talk, Whispr. You’re going to anyway.”

“I’m sorry, doc. I know people like this. There’s nothing to be gained trying to fool him. It’d only go harder on both of us.”

Again Kruger nodded. “Extremely sensible. Continue.”

“We work for ourselves.”

Kruger pulled his communicator. Not to order incineration of the speaker, but to check the readouts from the concealed monitoring instrumentation. He was more than a little surprised to see that the ganglion of sophisticated apparatus insisted that the speaker was telling the truth. Though he knew they couldn’t be wrong, the security chief was still reluctant to accept the results.

“Yourselves? You don’t strike me as the kind of independent operators I’m used to dealing with. So you say you’re working for
yourselves. To what end? Why did you risk your lives to break into a private, secure facility in the Forbidden Zone?”

Ingrid sighed. Whispr was doubtless correct. There was nothing to be gained by trying to withhold information from this man. But if the opportunity presented itself, they could be less than directly forthcoming.

“In my work as a practicing general physician …,” she began.

Kruger interrupted again. “You’re telling me that you are truly a licensed doctor?”

“Really, yes.”

Once more the security chief checked the readouts on his communicator. Once again he found it difficult to credit the information he was being given. If the monitors were to be believed, like her companion the woman was also telling the truth.

In the absence of comment or question from their captor Ingrid decided it would be prudent, or at least acceptable, to continue. “In my work I came across some objects fashioned of what appeared to be metastable metallic hydrogen. A material that should not exist—at least, not on the surface of the Earth.” Her head came up. Might as well plead for mercy with her eyes as well as her voice, she thought. “I became obsessed with it, with trying to learn how something like that could be manufactured. I started trying to research it.” She nodded to her right. “Through circumstances that we needn’t go into I made the acquaintance of this gentleman here.…”

Gentleman
. Whispr’s bonds seemed to slacken a little.

“… who is far more street-wise than I am.” Her gaze returned to their dubious but attentive interrogator. “I employed him to help me negotiate certain strata of society that would eat me alive were I to try to penetrate them by myself.” Somehow she managed a smile. “As you can see, we made a pretty decent team. We got this
far. We were so careful.” She looked down at her booted feet. “In the end we were tripped up by something quite ordinary.”

Kruger was understanding. “You would be surprised, Ingrid Seastrom, how often that occurs in my line of work. It’s so often the simplest things that undo the best made plans.”

As he listened she laid out the details of the journey that had taken her and her companion all the way from the civilized surrounds of Greater Savannah to the barren depths of the Namib. She spoke plainly and straightforwardly. It sounded like someone dictating a will.

These were ordinary people, he told himself. He didn’t need expensive concealed instrumentation to tell him so. Perhaps that was how they had made it this far; by relying on their very ordinariness. If
he
didn’t think they were anything special it was reasonable to assume that those responsible for a succession of safeguards stretching all the way back to Cape Town might think likewise. For those seeking to accomplish the impossible it is a wonderful thing to be overlooked and underestimated.

He would not commit that sin. They had penetrated Nerens and nearly made it into Research. There must, there
had
to be more to them than was discernible at first sight. Despite his initial impression he did not discount the possibility that they might be the most sophisticated infiltrators he had ever encountered, capable of fooling not only him but the perceptive mechanisms that were designed to flush out even the most accomplished liars.

Bringing his communicator up to his mouth he murmured a command. A fresh set of instructions appeared on the screen. He touched one.

Two pairs of finger-thick metal rods rose from the floor, one set flanking each of the prisoners. Each rod was topped by a fist-sized silvery metal sphere. His fingers hovered over the communicator screen.

“You’ve been very cooperative, but now I’m going to have to ask you some questions you may not want to answer.”

“There are no questions I won’t answer.” Sensing all too well what was coming Whispr began to twitch fearfully in his bonds.

“Nevertheless …” One of Kruger’s fingers started to descend.

“Just me, just do me!” The skinny Meld’s voice rose for the first time since the security chief had entered the room. “Don’t hurt her!”

Startled as much by his outburst as by its subject matter, Ingrid gaped at him.

Kruger paused. “Interesting. Spindly as you are I wouldn’t have thought there’d be room enough in that shriveled frame for chivalry. It doesn’t matter. Personally I’d be glad to grant your request. Professionally I’m afraid I can’t allow any plea, heartfelt or otherwise, to interfere with business.”

But it did matter—at least to Ingrid. Lips slightly parted, she continued to stare at her companion as she waited for whatever was to come.

The opening of the sole door behind Kruger beat the descent of his finger to the communicator’s responsive surface by a second or so.

Whispr just stared, but Ingrid couldn’t help herself. She gasped audibly at the sight of the two grotesquely corpulent figures who shambled into the interrogation chamber. Though they were quite real, they made no sense. Especially to a physician. In an era of readily available cosmetic melds beyond anything people of earlier times had ever dreamed of there was no reason for any human being to look like the newly arrived couple. While every imaginable physical fetish could be readily realized, gross obesity was one she had never encountered either in person or in the medical literature. There was no body type that could not be altered, no genetic idiosyncrasy that could not be realigned. Adjusting
hormonal imbalance was as straightforward as mixing a cocktail in a bar.

Given the multiplicity of easily available alternatives, why would anyone
choose
to look like this? She could not keep from staring.

The gobsmacked unswerving gazes of the two prisoners in no way unsettled the waddling pair. No doubt they were used to such appalled stares. Leaning toward the security chief, the woman whispered in his ear. Kruger did not pull away in disgust as another might have. Instead, he replied with equal softness. It was apparent that he knew these two well and they him.

The security chief concluded the brief conversation by murmuring into his communicator. He appeared neither disappointed nor pleased. The deceptively innocent-looking metal standards remained upright where they had emerged from the floor and did nothing. Moments passed while he and his outrageously corpulent visitors engaged in conversation that was inaudible to the two prisoners. This ceased only when the door opened again and they were joined by a fourth figure. At the appearance of this new individual Whispr let out a small moan. For the second time since she had been pinned like a fly to the wall, Ingrid gasped. The newcomer was short, stocky, elderly—and familiar.

Kruger nodded toward the new arrival. “Are these by any chance the two Namericans you thought might show up ‘somewhere in the Namib near Nerens’?”

Napun Molé’s gaze focused on Whispr before shifting to Ingrid. It was strange seeing his frustratingly elusive quarry here like this, helpless and collared after the long, long chase they had led him on. A part of him expected them to vanish in a puff of smoke, forcing him to resume the trail yet again. But only a very small part of him.

“I anticipated that they would be detected and picked up much
farther south. The last thing I expected was to find them within the confines of the facility itself.” Affecting a nonexistent innocence, the older man looked up at the much bigger Kruger. “There would appear to have been a breach of security.”

Kruger’s muscles went taut. If there was anything he loathed it was having his competency questioned—especially when the accuser happened to be right. His reply was just shy of a snarl.

“You’re damn lucky you come with the kind of company rating that prevents me from hitting you with more than the occasional bad word.”

“Please.” Molé waved it away. “Sometimes I am too direct. I mean nothing by it but at the same time I cannot help it. It is my manner.” Turning back to face the prisoners he raised his voice slightly. “No doubt you are surprised to see me here. A late young lady who was part of an ill-conceived bunch that broke into the sangoma Thembekile’s house in Cape Town succeeded in accessing a small amount of information from the witch doctor’s box storage. The young lady could only remember a single word, but because of its repeated use and singular nature it stuck with her. Right to the end, I might add.

“That word was ‘Namib.’ Now, knowing full well your interest in a certain piece of riffled company property and your self-confessed desire to learn its meaning, the knowledge that you were heading for the Namib could only mean you intended to try furthering your knowledge at the one place in this part of the continent that might offer such information. That would be the Nerens facility.” He shook his head, the gesture expressing a mix of admiration and regret. “I confess I never expected you to get this far. I thought you would be picked up on company surveillance and brought in before you could get ten kilometers out of Orangemund.” With spread hands he indicated their surroundings.

“Yet here you are. Inside Nerens itself. I am as astonished by
your persistence as much as I am charmed by your naïveté.” He turned to Kruger. “Excuse me a moment. This has been a very long and tiresome time coming.”

Walking up to the two captives, the elderly assassin halted between them. “Who presently has the thread?” Despite his earlier insistence that he would answer any question, Whispr now said nothing. It was neither his place to do so nor his decision to make. As for Ingrid, she saw no point in trying to delay the inevitable.

“I do. It’s”—she bit her lower lip—“it’s in a safety compartment in my brassiere. Left side.”

Molé nodded. “Safe and warm.” Reaching into the top of her overgown he felt around briefly until he found the compartment, unsealed it, and removed the storage capsule. Within the small transparent cylinder the thread gleamed, intact and unharmed. He held it up between them. His expression roiled her stomach like month-old milk.

“Did you expect me to linger over the recovery?” He shook his head sadly. “I favor the kind of physical infarctions that involve rather more than casual tactility, Ms. Seastrom. As a doctor, you will have the opportunity to appreciate the diversity I can bring to more in-depth physiological exploration.” He smiled unpleasantly. “Very soon now, I hope.”

Kruger was growing impatient. Such taunting displeased the professional in him. “I still need to find out how they managed to get inside.”

“Certainly, certainly. First things first. I have waited this long; I can wait a little longer.”

Stepping back, Molé took one last long look at the capsule and its contents whose recovery had consumed him for more weeks than he cared to count. Except for its silvery sheen the storage thread within looked little different from hundreds of others he had seen and used himself. Its composition and contents were none of
his business. Pivoting, and with some ceremony, he placed it in the pudgy palm of the indifferently coiffed overweight man.

“I declare this SICK, Inc. property officially recovered. This concludes the formal part of my assignment. One that I regret took up entirely too much time, at considerable expense both to the company and myself.” Turning back to the prisoners he locked eyes with Ingrid. He had begun to perspire ever so slightly.

“There will be no charge for the follow-up interrogation, which I expect to also take a considerable amount of time.” He glanced at Kruger. “I will unearth that which you wish to know, as well as satisfying myself as to the processes followed by these two in managing to evade my notice for such an extended period of time. You may of course participate if you wish.” The snake smile returned. “Or you may just watch.”

“I think I’ll give both a pass.” Kruger’s distaste was evident. “I’ll read your formal report.”

Molé shrugged indifferently. “It may take several days. I intend to make it so.”

“Whenever it’s done.” Kruger’s distaste intensified as he turned to leave.