Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) (32 page)

“But he – ”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jacob said, still in that tired tone of voice. “Now there’s going to be all kinds of attention on that cop. Now every little thing he wrote down will be like the damn Rosetta Stone, and they’ll go over every note in his pad like it was written in his fucking
blood
.”

“It was a hit and run, no one would ever – ”

“You don’t understand,” Jacob cut in. “You weren’t listening to me when I explained about hunches. Nobody needs a direct connection, not for something like this. Let me try to explain it another way. See that machine?” Jacob pointed at a medium-sized device made of metal and plastic resting at the base of the near wall. Compared to the other machines lining the shelves in the room, this one seemed almost simple. “Bring it over here.”

The Gun did as he was told, retrieving the device and setting it on Jacob’s desk.

“It’s an auto-defibrillator, you know what that is?”

Gun Two shrugged. “Re-start your heart?”

Jacob smiled, and Gun Two was put momentarily at ease. “Exactly. Now open up the plastic housing and take hold of the paddles, and I’ll show you something.”

Gun two opened the little door that gave access to the computer-controlled charging paddles. Then he picked one of them up in each hand.

After a delay of exactly three seconds, a 120-Amp surge of DC power froze Gun Two in place, locking his muscles and snapping his jaws together with enough force to chip two of his molars. The paddles’ handles, which had been carefully stripped of their insulating rubber and wrapped – unaccountably – with a thick layer of superbly conductive copper, vibrated in Gun Two’s hands. A popping sound came from Gun Two’s right forearm; this may have been his
palmaris
tendon rupturing under the uncommon strain of an electrically induced spasm.

The few lights that were switched on that morning in the Savian apartment went dim.

“It’s normally programmed to activate only when it detects cardiac
arrest
,” Jacob explained, studying the Gun with an expression of rapt attention. He had never seen anyone in the actual process of dying, and he thought the experience was almost as good as watching George paint. Not quite, but pretty close. Murder without intent to consume was, in Jacob’s opinion, another one of those rare things that only humans and God could lay claim to. Worth appreciating, therefore. “And of course it’s only supposed to deliver a quick jolt, not this extended business here. But the literature says it takes a good minute and a half to properly fry a man, so I’ve got it wired to the building’s power – see those extra leads coming out of the bottom? No, of course you don’t. That’s okay. Anyway, it was easy to modify. I created the original software, you know. So I didn’t have too much difficulty with the failsafe protocols.”

Gun Two was not listening. Or looking. His eyes popped out in quick succession – not the entire eyeballs, only the contents – and a pink-tinted smoke began wafting up from the bloody sockets. His whole body was shaking now, vibrating so rapidly that parts of him were a blur.

Jacob looked at his watch. He tapped his foot.

Precisely ninety seconds after the modified machine had detected a closed circuit, an automatic relay was faithfully tripped by the programming logic embedded in the rudimentary CPU, and the power supply was interrupted. The remaining charge, which was significant, was then redirected to the main circuit board itself, instantly destroying all of the code responsible for the machine’s operation.

Gun Two’s body dropped to the floor in a heap, his muscles now awaiting commands from a brain and nervous system that would never again issue commands of any kind. Jacob leaned forward and peered over the desk, wondering if he should put forth the effort to get up and check for the Gun’s pulse. He couldn’t imagine why he would need to, despite the accounts of electric chair procedures he had read. He could smell the man’s charred skin easily enough from where he was sitting. So what if his heart
were
still beating? Surely it wouldn’t be beating for long.

“Just stay there,” Jacob said to the Gun, whose heart had in fact stopped just twenty-five seconds after the first shock. Jacob leaned back and began turning slowly, idly in his chair. “I had a
hunch
you were the dumb one,” he called to the Gun after a minute. “See, that’s using it in a sentence. My
hunch
is that you would have fucked something else up later on. I have a
hunch
the whole operation has a better chance of success now, without you around.”

Jacob kept spinning slowly in his chair. Kept calling out examples of the word “hunch” to his dead, uncaring pupil.

A minute later, George returned from his errand. He came through the front door and held up two large bottles of Raspberry Lipton Ice Tea, his brother’s favorite. He held them up like prizes he had won at a fair. But then he frowned. He lowered the bottles, sniffed the air, and grimaced. Then he peered across the huge room, trying to make out the scene at Jacob’s desk more clearly. It looked to George as though the man who had come in a few minutes ago was lying face down on the ground there.

“What is that?”

“I told him not to touch it,” Jacob said, still turning around slowly. He looked like a child – an extremely large, extremely cold-blooded child – who had only now discovered the delightful time that could be had by sitting in a rotating chair. “I told him it was dangerous, that I hadn’t finished with the programming. But he wanted to pick it up.”

Jacob said all this to the ceiling. Then he looked at George. “We’re going to have to clean him up, I’m afraid.”

George walked over quickly. When he reached the desk he looked down and studied the man lying there. He put the bottles of Ice Tea carefully next to Jacob’s second keyboard, where his brother could easily reach them. Then he put his hands on his hips and gave Jacob an exasperated look. “You mean
I’m
going to have to,” he said. “Fuck, Jay,” he added.

Jacob looked shamefaced. “Thanks for the tea.”

“You can’t
do
this,” George said, his hands still on his hips. He looked like a disappointed parent. More fed up than mad. Because of a C- on a report card, say. “I’m really
busy
. I don’t have time for this kind of thing. Is he clean?”

“Of course he’s clean. Anyway, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh, please. This is going to take me hours. The rest of the day.”

“Don’t be like that. You know I’m busy, too. I explained all of this. It’s for you, too. This was
necessary
.”

George rolled his eyes.

“And speaking of that, I have to make a call.”

George shook his head in disgust. “You owe me.”

“I know, but give me a minute here.” Jacob was moving on, already pulling up the contact information on his screen. George sighed and walked away. He went past his beloved canvas and headed for the kitchen.

Jacob established the connection, and a moment later the Organizer’s face appeared. He looked confused to be receiving the call. “What’s the problem? Is he there?”

Jacob nodded. “Listen, you’re going to need to modify your plans.”

“Why? What happened?”

“This man is not part of your team anymore. He’s quit the business.”

The Organizer was silent for a moment, trying to process. Trying to understand. Then his face changed, and he nodded.

“So you’ll figure it out?” Jacob asked. “You’ll shuffle your people around to make it work?”

The Organizer waited another minute, then said, “We will.”

“Wonderful. Also, I need you to draw up an alternate plan.”

Real surprise registered on the Organizer’s face this time. Killing an operative was one thing, but messing with the plan, especially this close to the deadline, was almost unheard of.

“Give me something we can do three days earlier,” Jacob said.

“That could be very difficult. What use would it be? There’s no reason to think the target will be out in the open on Tuesday; it wouldn’t make any sense. He’s not even – ”

“Draw it up,” Jacob said. “Three days earlier. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Talk to you tomorrow.”

He severed the connection.

George emerged from the kitchen area wearing an enormous blue apron. The material ran all the way down to his ankles. He was carrying a small axe in one hand, and there was a thick roll of plastic under the other arm. His face was dark. “I need to get started,” he announced.

“You’re the expert,” Jacob replied happily.

George made a grumpy noise, and then he reached down and began unrolling the plastic sheet.

Jacob returned to his computer. He felt good.

They were bac
k on track
.

A Typical Percussion Grenade

It was so easy to walk to school, so easy to cover the seven short blocks from his apartment to 74
^th
street, that Kevin Brooks had to keep himself from breaking into a trot. He felt like skipping. But Dr. Petak had warned him to keep his schedule regimented, to keep everything in its proper time and place, and that included exercise. So he would wait until later in the day to run. He would act like a normal person, exactly as the doctor had prescribed. One foot in front of the other. Just another guy heading for the office. Or the classroom. Work, eat, socialize, exercise, rest. And before he knew it he’d be at the end of next week, when everything would go back to normal. Petak’s advice was working wonders so far, and Kevin was not going to take any chances.

He turned the corner at 74
^th
, and there was Danny, already at his customary post in the entryway. Kevin walked up with a grin and clapped him on the shoulder. “Morning.”

Danny turned, gave him a once-over, and then nodded with approval. “Much better.”

“I got sleep.”

It wasn’t strictly true, but Kevin didn’t know the term for what he had been doing for the last fourteen hours. He wasn’t sure there
was
a term.

Great night of ultra-focused trance reading. Totally refreshed.

“Good,” Danny said, still nodding. “I was a little worried.”

They stood together at the doorway, two large and smiling men greeting students as they arrived at school. Waves and handshakes, and the atmosphere seemed especially jovial. Kevin realized it was not just that he felt rested
;
i
t was Friday. Even the painters down the block, who had three white vans with them today instead of the usual two, seemed primed for the weekend. They were sitting on the curb, taking a break, and waving good-naturedly to many of the students as they passed. The students, eager as Labrador puppies and just as social, waved back as though greeting old friends. Painter guys.